


Coda

by MoonDrenchedShores



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 07, Season/Series 08, Season/Series 13, Sensuality, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonDrenchedShores/pseuds/MoonDrenchedShores
Summary: noun. 1. a : a concluding musical section that is formally distinct from the main structure b : a concluding part of a literary or dramatic work 2 : something that serves to round out, conclude, or summarize and usually has its own interestCastiel and Meg keep crossing paths, but whether it's fate or some cruel joke remains to be seen.





	1. Prologue: The Night We Met

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Megstiel Big Bang 2018.  
> Art by kuwlshadow on Tumblr.

 

It wasn’t often that Castiel took to drinking lately, but considering the strangeness of the last few days, even he was surprised that he hadn’t picked up the habit again sooner.

Now, as he sat in the bunker’s library in the middle of the night, a bottle of bourbon and the radio were his only company, and so far they were proving to be reliable.

Jack, the boy he had sworn to protect before his birth, was gone. He had run away in a fit of self-loathing, something to which Castiel could relate all too well. On top of that source of angst, there was the matter of the fact that he had returned from the dead yet again, and that this time he knew exactly what had happened to him once he passed on. This time, he had actually been dead long enough to glimpse the other side, or at least what the other side was for his kind.

No other creature had ever woken up in the Empty, but Jack’s voice had roused him from that sleep every angel and demon took when their time on this plane was done.

As he idly took a swig straight from his bottle, Castiel wondered if Meg was there, too.

He’d thought about Meg pretty regularly over the years since he had last seen her. He didn’t know what had happened to her, not really, but every now and then he would have the sinking feeling that he was never going to see her again. Despair and fear would always keep him from further pursuing just what her fate had been. In theory he could always have just asked Sam or Dean, but he was terrified of what he might hear. And what if he was right to be afraid?

In the background, the radio switched to a different song, one that sounded as though it was filled with the same sense of pondering and longing for what once was that he felt.

They had made each other promises, once. Promises that he had fully intended to keep but never had the chance to. What would Meg say if she could see him now? Would she remark about how messy his life had become? Would she want to talk about the simplicity of the apocalypse again? Or would she leave that to him? Because he had to admit, with all that had transpired, he was beginning to understand her point about missing certain aspects of that time, when good was good and bad was bad and life was easier.

He could still remember as clear as day the look on her face when she had said those words, and the mental image brought with it an acute pang. He was used to that happening whenever he reminisced about his time with her.

Motion caught his eye, and he followed it to see the flickering of a candle. The dim glow of the light in the otherwise dark room evoked a different memory. It was one of a ring of fire in a dank cellar on a violent night, of two enemies facing down each other’s equal counterpart and leaving the encounter forever changed in far more ways than just one.

The recollection slowly filtered into conscious reflection, and he let that dancing flame take him back to the night they met.


	2. Chapter 1: Disarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg reflects on her first encounter with Castiel—and her conflicting desires in regards to him.

_“So what can you do, you impotent sap?”_

_“I can do this.”_

The moment was seared into Meg’s mind as surely as these burns were now seared into her very essence. She’d slipped up, let that stupid angel get into her head with his clever words and pretty eyes, and now she was here on the floor of some root cellar just _waiting_ and _waiting_ for the pain across her stomach to just go away. The disappointment and anger that wracked her were more than enough as far as punishment went, and then there was what Lucifer would do when he found out…

Lucifer. While he was her god and she revered him as such—as all demons should, she thought to herself—she knew that his rebuking of her failure to do this one thing, to keep Castiel confined, would likely be on the more brutal side of discipline. She may have had the honored position of his right hand for now, but that didn’t make her some special exception. If anything, he would likely just want to make an example of her.

Weakly, she pulled herself to the wall and sat up to inspect her wounds. Holy fire didn’t seem to have hurt her meatsuit any worse than regular flames, but it would still be a bitch to try to regenerate. Her true form would be a different story, and she knew it. That was a non-issue, and she could bear those scars with pride. They would tell a story: I faced an angel of the Lord and lived. Once she had regained some of the clout she had a hunch she might lose after this, it just might help her strike fear into the dead hearts of demons and humans alike once more.

Slow, deliberate steps coming down the stairs made her turn, her eyes wide with expectation and a healthy little dose of religious fear. Lucifer was back.

Meg heard the disappointed clicking of a tongue, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at her Creator. Not when this was her fault.

“Well, well, well,” came soft-spoken tones, a voice that would be comforting if Meg weren’t so afraid of what would come next. “What happened here, hmm? Did the birdie get out of his cage?”

The demon realized her master was addressing her, and she turned her wide eyes up to him. It was always wondrous to see him before her, even now, making her feel so very small.

There would be no point in lying to him. He would see right through every excuse with ease.

“Yes.” The word was said quietly, so much so that it would have been inaudible to human ears. “He—Castiel—” And there was no disguising the venom in his name. “—he tricked me. I shouldn’t have let him, but it happened.” Given the fact that Lucifer was still wearing Nick, Meg took it that his plan to win over Sam Winchester had failed, too. “I’m sorry, sir. You trusted me, and I wasted it.”

The archangel extended a hand. Meg’s heartbeat quickened in her breast as she jumped to the perfectly reasonable conclusion that he was about to smite her for her incompetence. She wouldn’t have blamed him for it. It might even be better to die now than to face inevitable humiliation from the rest of her kin. But to her surprise, he only beckoned her to stand. So she did exactly that, using the wall behind her to pull herself to her feet. Still she averted her gaze from the face of her Creator. She didn’t deserve to look upon him now.

Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed to feel differently. He placed a gentle finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. His eyes, icy blue even in the fire-lit cellar, were impenetrable and unreadable.

“You underestimated him.”

Meg couldn’t nod, but her guilt made her sick to her stomach and brought a stinging sensation to her eyes. “Yes, sir. I thought I could handle him when you told me to watch over him. I’m sorry.” Apologizing didn’t come naturally to her kind, yet here she had just done it twice. Only her god could have ever accomplished that. Even something so simple inspired another rush of awe in her.

Lucifer was quiet again, as if he were trying to detect any lies in her. “There’s no need to apologize, child. It could have happened to anyone.”

All at once a searing pain seized her abdomen again, and she gasped in an agonized breath, her mouth opening and closing like a fish that found itself on dry land. His other hand had found her injury and now was delving in and out of the burns, agitating them further and hurting so badly that she stomped her foot on the ground just to try and distract herself from the sting.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

He let her go and stepped back. Her knees could no longer hold her up and she crumpled to the floor, curled around the wound. But she didn’t cry. Real tears had been trained out of her.

“You’re one of my best, Meg,” Lucifer said, as if he hadn’t just reduced her to a trembling heap in the dirt. “I don’t say this so that it will go to your head. We can’t have that. I only want to motivate you to do the best that I know you can do. That’s all. Your daddy had a lot of faith in you, so I do, too. Do we have an understanding?”

She nodded, and even that motion was shaky. “Yes, sir,” she whispered. It was a lot of pressure, but apparently Azazel had believed her up to the task. She would have to prove them both right. She wouldn’t let an angel catch her off guard ever again.

After an appraising glance, Lucifer turned and headed back to the stairs. “I want you to keep that wound open for the next two weeks. Just as a reminder that these Winchesters and their pet mean business. You can’t ever forget their tenacity, or their ability to resort to tricks. I know you have some experience with that. I just want you to remember. I want all the little demons below you to remember, too.”

With that he vanished, leaving only the heat of the fire and Meg’s own thoughts to keep her company.

She’d been right to assume that he would want to make her an example, but wrong in her initial thoughts of how he would do so. Public humiliation and maybe a little torture were more her notions. But this? This was almost a blessing, if demons could ever receive such things. These consequences would be almost entirely self-inflicted.

When put like that it was actually kind of brilliant, Meg had to admit, and through the haze she had a considerable amount of respect for that.

And it gave her an idea, one that distracted her from the damage done to her abdomen.

Maybe before her talk with Lucifer she would have considered tracking down Castiel, torturing him, and then killing him slowly. Hell knew that would have satisfied her, kept her going until the end of this war and maybe given her something to get off to on occasion, too. She was a demon, she had dark tastes. But now she had a new desire altogether, though whether she would act on it all depended on the little winged pest.

The next time she ran into him—and she had a feeling that she would, for those Winchesters kept turning up like bad pennies and if the angel hung around them as constantly as she’d heard, then she’d see him again soon enough—she was going to make him break.

After all, she’d seen the look in his eyes while he was holding her tight against him in the fire. That kind of lust couldn’t be faked, and if she was right, it had taken him by surprise. Despite what he’d done to her, she would even wager that his surprise was borne of innocence. Wouldn’t it be so fun to corrupt that and watch him crash and burn from the delicious inner conflict that would doubtlessly ensue?

Not that it wouldn’t also be fun on another level, of course. He’d felt strong even if his meatsuit was hidden under all of those layers. She’d just have to peel them off like skin to find what he was concealing from the world.

Smiling to herself, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling where the flickering flames cast dancing shadows. It nearly resembled the part of home that she liked.

It had been way too long since she last had a plan to drag someone down into the pit of sin with her, and even longer since such a plan worked. Usually she left that sort of thing to lower level demons while she went out on assignments and otherwise wreaked all sorts of havoc.

Now she’d kill anyone who tried to get to the featherbrain before her.

Wondering idly if angels could even hear the prayers of demons, Meg chuckled darkly and whispered into the dry air, “Catch you on the flipside, Clarence.”


	3. Chapter 2: Tip of My Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel reflects on his first encounter with Meg—and the strange and new sensations she has awakened in him despite his hatred of her.

Bobby Singer’s house was silent after Castiel returned from Carthage with Sam and Dean in tow.

The entire operation had failed. They had failed to kill Lucifer with the Colt. In all fairness, there had been no way for any of them to know that the mystical revolver would barely leave a mark on the Devil. Even Castiel, with all his knowledge of Heaven, had been deliberately been kept in the dark along with the other celestial foot soldiers in regards to the weaknesses and strengths of the Archangels. He could only suppose that it was to keep them from even thinking of rebelling against those who were really in charge.

It didn’t matter so much for him now; getting back into Heaven’s good graces wasn’t exactly on his agenda.

Even worse than the failure to kill Lucifer and prevent the rising of Death was the loss of Ellen and Jo Harvelle. Castiel hadn’t known them but for a couple of days, so it didn’t affect him as greatly as it did Sam and Dean, but from his observations they were good people and very brave. And it was hard to watch his friends processing such grief when they couldn’t even have a funeral. All they had to burn was the photograph they had taken before the mission.

He lingered at the house during the night, not wanting to abandon his friends in their time of need. In any case he had quite a bit of processing to do himself, and it all began when Dean recounted in clipped sentences just what had happened to the Harvelles.

“Hellhounds, man,” Dean spat before taking a swig of his beer, the sixth he’d had so far. “Eight of ‘em. That bitch Meg brought ‘em. Sicced ‘em on us.”

The name was what caught Castiel’s attention. “Meg? The demon?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean groaned. “Keep up.”

“Dean.” Sam sat across the room from Castiel, next to his brother. He wasn’t drinking, but he did look forlorn. “Take it easy on him, okay? Today was hard for him, too.”

The older Winchester sighed but relented. “Sorry, Cas. It’s just…” He didn’t go on, instead remaining silent for a few seconds as if sorrow had clogged his throat. When he did speak again, his voice was hardened with resolve. “I swear if I see her again I’ll kill her myself. No matter what.”

This time, Castiel was certain that he was talking about Meg.

“Not alone,” Sam said quietly. “I wouldn’t let you unless I was there, too.”

Something twisted in the angel’s stomach, and he rose to his feet. “I’m sorry. There’s something that I need to do.”

He left them without so much as another word and went outside. The cool air was crisp in his vessel’s lungs and allowed him to clear his head a little bit so that he might hopefully sort out these unexpected and very human feelings that were now manifesting throughout every cell. Even his true form was affected.

All of his angelic instincts were screaming at him that he shouldn’t care whether Meg died. She was only a demon, after all, and one that had proven herself to be every bit as arrogant and irritating as he previously believed demons to be on the whole. Even Alastair hadn’t managed to get under his skin quite as much as being in question had.

To make matters worse, she had made him question himself in a way he never had before, and he didn’t know where to even begin to process the sensations she had aroused in him—sensations he now recalled acutely.

He closed his eyes and tried to banish those memories, but it only seemed to make them reveal themselves with even greater clarity. The look in her eyes when she first approached him, the smile that twisted her face. Her glee when she gloated over what she was so sure was her side’s inevitable victory. The smell of her, like sulfur and crushed flowers, a kind of decay that made him recoil. She disgusted him by virtue of what she was, and there was no getting around that. Or at least, there shouldn’t have been.

If he were being honest with himself (and honesty was a strong point of his) then he would admit that there was something intriguing about her even if he couldn’t quite decipher just what that was. Was it her lack of fear in his presence when other demons would quake when they so much as sensed him? Was it her sheer confidence that powered the arrogance that so repulsed him? Or was it her transparent loyalty to a cause that was more than the mere destruction he had been told was every demon’s true and only love? Perhaps it was a combination of all of those things. Either way, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind, not truly. Nor had he been able to forget the way that she had made him feel. To him, that was the most disturbing thing of all.

Angels weren’t meant to experience things such as desire or lust, or whatever it was that could describe the electricity which had seized him from his head to his feet the instant he was holding her body tight against his. It shouldn’t have come as a comfort that there was no human girl in that body anymore, either. And yet here he was, reliving that moment in stark detail, lingering on her plush-looking lips, a consistency between the body and the demon’s true form. By all human standards the real her would be considered unattractive. But something about the swirling, restless smoke and the thorns that pricked him when he pressed his palm to her forehead had made him stare. It had been as though he had wanted to memorize the way she looked in that moment, how her eyes closed as if she expected him to…what? To kiss her? That seemed the most likely option. Part of him had actually wanted to try it.

What was wrong with him?

Why had the look on her face flattered him so?

Did she even survive the holy fire?

As if somehow in answer to this unspoken question, he heard a voice in his head. _Her_ voice.

_“Catch you on the flipside, Clarence.”_

“Yes,” he whispered, gazing up at the night sky. His face had hardened with new resolve for what exactly he was supposed to do. “I suppose you will.”

The next time they met, he would not leave her to continue to taunt him and make him doubt. She would no longer slander his Father or send shivers down his spine that he couldn’t begin to understand. The next time they met he would have to defeat her. Just what that entailed, he did not know. He couldn’t smite her, and there was only one demon-killing knife to go around at the moment. All he knew for certain was that something had to be done about this demon who confused him so and who tried to drive him to give in to temptation with her velvet voice and her deceptively small, soft body. She would not best him again.

For no matter how he had managed to escape, that was precisely what she had done. There was no denying it. Somehow she had gotten into his head and would not leave, and if she knew that then she might consider it a victory. That was how her infernal kind operated. It stood to reason then that he could never let her know. Even if he had lost all his power when they saw each other again and she would be able to twist and turn her way into his thoughts as if they were her own, he would keep that knowledge as carefully tucked away as he could. She would not have any hold over him.

And maybe, just maybe, he would have it in him to kill her if he became strong enough again. No, he would have to. It was what he was supposed to do. Even if he rejected fate by standing alongside the Winchesters and attempting to avert the apocalypse altogether, that would never change. Besides, the only way to rid himself of these dreadful feelings was to eliminate their source altogether, wasn’t it?

Castiel wasn’t sure if he could convince himself of that so easily. But he would have to try.

More comforted in his new decision, he gave one more cursory glance to the constellations twinkling in the night sky high above and started for the door on foot. It was a somber occasion. For now, he could forget Meg and concentrate on comforting his friends. If the universe smiled on him, then he could forget Meg for the rest of his life. Would that ever even be possible for him? Would those chills with which she infected him ever fade with time and distance? Could her influence on him, minimal as it may have been, ever be reversed? It would be an indirect sort of victory on his part, assuming that his life was to be short now that he had aligned himself with Sam and Dean.

He had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t be so lucky.


	4. Chapter 3: Murdermile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg and Castiel meet again after the incident at Crowley's compound, and while there is still animosity between them, Castiel has a proposition for Meg.

Crowley’s prison compound reeked of death when Meg returned to it after she was certain that the Winchesters were gone and she’d had a chance to at least get the hellhound blood off her face and chest. Not that it hadn’t before, but now that stench seemed to pervade the very cracking paint that covered the walls.

To be honest, she was pretty comfortable with it. It was a familiar smell, and it reminded her of just how deliciously Crowley had failed.

Speaking of which…

Her stride was confident as she stepped into the very room in which her enemy had met his amazingly ironic and somewhat unexpected end. The ashes were still fresh and giving off smoke on the floor.

She walked up to them and gave them a brutal kick, scattering them everywhere.

The sound of wings flapping behind her alerted her to the presence of something equally delicious as the hack king’s defeat.

“Clarence,” she purred, swiveling on her heel and cocking her hips toward him. If he noticed the provocative gesture then he did an excellent job of hiding it. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. You come back for more already? Naughty, naughty boy.” She clicked her tongue in mock admonishment.

“My name is Castiel,” he said, his blue eyes steely as if he thought she really needed the reminder. For a split second she thought she saw those eyes travel the length of her body, but they were trained on her face with disciplined focus before she could be sure. “And that’s not why I’m here. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Meg took a step back and placed a hand over her heart, feigning offense. “Ouchie.”

Castiel ignored her. “I came here to clean up the mess that Crowley left. The creatures were too damaged to be trusted out in the world, and it would be cruel to leave them to die of starvation. So I’m being merciful.”

“Huh.” Meg raised her chin, her eyebrow following suit. “For a given, kinda fucked-up definition of mercy.”

The seraph before her (quite an upgrade from the first time they met, wasn’t it?) fixed her with a glare and took a few more long steps toward her, though if she was reading him right, then he wasn’t fully aware of just where his feet were carrying him.

“You think you have a right to judge me?”

The demon scoffed. “Please. Judging is one of my favorite pastimes, but this time I was just…making an observation. As it were. You can untwist your panties now. Or don’t, if that’s your kink.”

Castiel was silent, but Meg could still practically feel the annoyance rolling off of him in waves. She was living for it.

She also took his silence as another opportunity to both get further under his skin and to try to get the answer to a question that she would be loath to admit had been at the forefront of her mind since that morning.

“You know, I think you and I oughtta talk about earlier.”

This time she caught his eyes flashing to her mouth and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. It would’ve made her shiver if she were weaker. “What do you mean?”

She scoffed as if her mind wouldn’t have also gone right to that conclusion. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not talking about that this time. I mean earlier _today_. When you called Crowley off.” There were three little words on the tip of her tongue, but she’d never say them out loud: _You saved me._ “Not to say that I don’t think I’m worth it, but I was just wondering why you seemed to think so. Boil it down to insatiable curiosity.”

Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, she appeared to have rendered him speechless. To say that she was satisfied would only be the tip of the iceberg. She kept her eyes defiantly locked on his, daring him to try and lie to her. Whatever he tried to fabricate, she would know. Lies were one of demons’ specialties, after all.

He didn’t waver. His eyes bored into her, and she could sense that it wasn’t just his vessel’s eyes doing the job. He was seeing right into _her_ , the twisted monster that she was under the flesh of this long-gone girl. The visage of which she was rather proud.

At long last he gave her an answer, and he said it so quietly that even she almost didn’t hear it. “I don’t know.”

She blinked a couple of times before her lips curved up into a smile. “You don’t know?” Her stomach began to twitch, and she had to take a couple of steps back just so she would have the room to double over and cackle. After a long few seconds of giving in to her amusement, she straightened up and caught her breath—mostly, anyway. “Oh, that is just the _richest_ thing I have ever heard! An angel admitting that there’s something he doesn’t know.”

Saying that aloud gave her a moment of pause. She was aware of the energy rolling off of Castiel’s vessel that was probably indicative of barely concealed anger, but she couldn’t bring herself to be even the least bit afraid. She was far too curious now. What was it about him that made him subvert her every expectation for what angels were supposed to be like?

He hadn’t moved to smite her yet. He was so _strange_. Anyone else would have decided that she wasn’t worth the irritation and tried to kill her, and she would have promptly made her escape. But here he was, just standing there.

Meg shook her head. “You’re a weirdo, you know that?”

Only then did he move, grasping her arms with both hands and exerting a pulse of grace that she could feel through her skin. She couldn’t have escaped now if she tried. As much as the look he was giving her was enough to make her nethers quiver, she knew that this was it. She’d finally fucked up and died for something stupid.

Or she thought that was the case, but Castiel was still just staring at her.

Now Meg was the one beginning to feel irritated. “Well?”

The angel blinked. “‘Well,’ what?”

“Aren’t you gonna do it?”

“Do it…?” By the way his brow furrowed and his grip on her arms loosened, he truly had no idea what she was talking about.

What the hell?

“Never mind,” she mumbled. “For a second there I thought you were gonna…”

Rather belatedly, a light bulb seemed to switch on in Castiel’s brain. “Oh.”

Meg had to admit, she was a little bit disappointed when he stepped away, but all of that disappeared when she got a whiff of the sheer conflict coming from this guy. Was all that because of her? That was flattering.

But he still wasn’t saying anything else, and that simply wouldn’t do.

“You know, you shouldn’t start something you can’t finish,” she said in a singsong tone. “You might give a girl the wrong idea.”

“I had no intention of that.” The dangerous hardness of his face let her know that he meant every word.

It gave her another thrill, that implied threat. And yet she had no urge to flee. Why would she when lying low all alone could be so very boring? She’d much rather play around and ruffle some feathers. She was about to shoot back with something witty and probably dirty, but he spoke again before she could get any words out.

“Why are you here?”

Fair question, that. He had told her what he was doing here, and if she was going to be on even ground with him which would make all of this infinitely more interesting, she would have to be honest, too. “What can I tell ya? I wanted to have a better look at those ashes there without a pair of giants in flannel ready to run me through with that little knife of theirs. You never know with them, right?”

Abruptly he turned around and shoved his hands in his pockets. If she had to take a guess, something had happened after she left that she was now dying to know. The sound of him clearing his throat and his uncertainty as he said, “I suppose,” only confirmed her suspicions and made her grin. Since she was already pushing her luck with him she would just have to find out what he meant some other time.

She did have another question in mind, though, one that demanded an immediate answer. “So why haven’t you killed me?”

For whatever reason, that made him look at her over his shoulder, leading to a gradual full-body turn back to her. Any shame she might have perceived earlier was gone.

“I think I may have use for you if I keep you alive,” he said, as though it was just now occurring to him.

Terrific. Another angel who wanted her around just because she was useful. Why would she ever expect anything different?

“And what might that be?” she asked him. Her voice wasn’t as sultry and inviting as before, and she intended for it to remain that way. He’d irked her too much for her to want him as much as she had.

Even he seemed to recognize the change in her. He looked down at his feet in a manner that was almost humble before responding. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m in the middle of a civil war between celestial forces. The archangel Raphael wants to get the apocalypse back on track. I’m trying to stop him.”

“I’d heard some about the scuffles going on upstairs,” Meg said slowly as she worked it all out in her head, piecing together rumor and the truth that she now knew. “Had no idea what it was really about, though. Crowley tended to keep that kind of info to himself and his little underlings. So what do you need me for? You know I was all Team End-of-the-World last year. Remember? So what use could I possibly be to you?”

“Simple,” Castiel said, and if Meg didn’t know better she might have thought that the swiftness of his answer meant that he had seriously considered this in the hours between Crowley’s vanquishing and now. “You’d be a good ace up my sleeve. You survived an entire pack of hellhounds. Surely an angel or two should be easy enough for you to take down should I run into any of Raphael’s here on earth. The likelihood is low, but with both our forces racing to retrieve the weapons of Heaven…”

Now he moved back toward her, again not seeming entirely aware of it. “You know the tortures of Hell. What Heaven has to offer is comparable, yes, but if I ever need information from the opposite side, something different may be just what works.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, scrutinizing him to the very best of her ability. “You don’t seem very sure about this.”

He had nothing to say to that. “Do you want to help me or not?”

For once, impulse didn’t seize her and make her refuse him just out of spite. She actually gave real thought to the proposition. On the one hand, preventing the apocalypse was _so_ not her usual gig. On the other hand, what was the point in restarting it if Sam and Dean would never cooperate? How was the prize fight supposed to go down without them? Would angels and demons just duke it out until the end of time with neither side getting the rewards they were promised?

And what was in it for her? Nothing much. Except…Crowley was bound to still have some idiots loyal to him out there. They’d want her head to avenge their joke of a king for sure. Maybe hanging around a seraph every once in a while would convince them to leave her be.

And maybe this would give her just the opportunity she’d dreamed of for over a year to drag Castiel down off his pedestal.

Unable to hide her smirk, she held out her hand. “All right. Looks like we have ourselves a deal.”

A bit hesitantly, he took her hand and shook it. His skin was surprisingly smooth. Warm, too. She liked it more than she’d ever admit.

The gleam in her eye was the only warning she gave him before she used that leverage to pull him down into a brief kiss.

He made a startled sort of sound in the back of his throat but relaxed into it much more quickly this time. _Gotta hand it to him,_ she thought a little fuzzily, _he’s a fast learner_. But this wasn’t for her own physical satisfaction, not this time. She just wanted to see the look on his face later.

She could just feel his other hand coming up to hold her, and that was when she pulled away. His eyes were still closed like he was expecting more, and when he opened them to find she had stepped away from him, he met her smirk with a scowl.

“See you later, Clarence,” she drawled. With the focus of a single thought, she was gone. Her lungs still felt cool and clean the way they had the first time.

In the motel room in which she was holed up, she grinned at her reflection in the mirror. Not a bad day for her. Her sworn enemy was gone, she was free, and she had an alliance with an angel of all beings…and said angel was proving to be far easier to corrupt than she’d originally thought.

Eh. There was always the possibility that it would just make all this that much more fun.


	5. Chapter 4: Hard Habit to Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Castiel's best efforts, he can't deny the connection he feels with Meg, especially now that they're working together. Whether that connection is acted upon remains to be seen.

The angel that Castiel had subdued was called Nathanael. A protector of hidden things, he had once been a guard of the weapons of Heaven alongside Virgil and had made the unfortunate decision to side with Raphael. Castiel had run across him while surfing the air waves searching for the scattered weapons himself. Now Nathanael was trapped in a ring of holy fire in the middle of a warehouse as Castiel paced along the perimeter.

“It really would be in your best interest if you just told me what you know,” Castiel said. “I would truly hate to hurt you any more than I already have.”

Nathanael was glaring at him through a swollen eye. The other was obstructed by the blood that dripped down from his vessel’s forehead. It gave Castiel a pang to see the damage. If these angels would just _listen_ to him for once…

“I will never tell you anything,” Nathanael hissed. “Raphael _will_ win this war. He _will_ raise the Cage from Hell and Michael _will_ have his vengeance on Lucifer. There _will_ be justice for what he did.”

“Brother, please…” Castiel faced him head-on and approached the holy fire, imploring etched across his face. Whether Nathanael understood the mercy that the seraph was trying to have on him he couldn’t say, but he knew it was hurting him down to his core that he may not get to enact it. “This is about so much more than justice or vengeance. This is about our Father’s world. The world that He created and that we were charged to protect. The fight between Lucifer and Michael would raze the earth and end life as God’s creation knows it. We all know this. I’m trying to stop this planet’s destruction. Why do you not care?”

The other angel lifted his head, looking down his nose at Castiel. “This planet was doomed the second Lucifer corrupted Lilith. The experiment should have ended there.”

Castiel tried to ignore the pulsing at his temple. “Just tell me where the weapons are. Consider my words and I may let you go. Otherwise you’ll never see freedom—or anything for that matter—again.”

“We’re not free, Castiel!” Nathanael looked as though he was close to leaping across the flames and risking certain death just to get the point across in a more physical way. Castiel would have backed up if he didn’t know for certain that he was safe on this side of the flames. “We’ve never been free!”

“We _are_ free.” Castiel felt as though he had given this speech a million times already. Perhaps he had, and he had just lost count somewhere along the way. It didn’t matter.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” a low, female voice groaned from a shadowy doorway. Nathanael looked over Castiel’s shoulder to see the speaker, but the latter didn’t bother turning. He knew who it was. He had brought her here hours ago when he set up this trap. “I’ve been listening to you two bicker over the same thing for an hour. Can we just cut to the chase already?”

Castiel felt rather than saw Meg step out of the shadows and into the light, for her dark power pricked at his celestial energy the closer she got to him.

Nathanael’s good eye narrowed. “You’re in league with the forces of Hell?”

“Not quite.” That much was true at the moment. And in any case he had no intention of ever fully aligning himself with the underworld. This was just the way things were at the moment. “She’s a rogue. And she’s actually in league with me.”

“Details don’t matter,” Meg huffed, and if Castiel could take a guess then he would say that she was rolling her eyes. He tried not to think too hard about what being able to assume that meant for him. “What matters is you’re right here, all fluffy and stubborn and vulnerable, and it has been way too long since I had a toy.”

Nathanael was clearly incredulous. “You would let this abomination torment me? Is this how far you’re willing to stoop now? Even Raphael would never consort with a demon, let alone a mere black-eyed foot soldier.”

_I was a foot soldier once,_ Castiel wanted to remind him, but he shrugged off the oddly defensive thought. It wouldn’t do to let this angel think that he had grown fond of the demon beside him, or that he was letting himself relate to her. To begin with it wasn’t true, but more importantly if word got to Raphael it could tarnish his reputation and thin out his ranks beyond recovery. Still, he couldn’t fight the urge to say something. “These are strange times, brother.”

“And honey, you’ve clearly never met me.” Meg’s voice dripped with an unsettling level of sweetness. “C’mon, Castiel. Leave me alone with him if he won’t talk. I just need five minutes. You know that fire won’t hurt me.”

Her use of his real name didn’t escape him. Was she putting up a front of respect for his benefit? If so, why? It would do nothing as far as Nathanael was concerned.

(He banished the pang in his gut at her mention of the fire.)

Casting a glance down at her to find that she was practically chomping at the bit, as humans liked to say, he gave a curt nod and passed her his blade. “All right. But no more than five minutes.”

She saluted him, and even he could tell that the gesture was mocking. “Aye, aye, captain.”

He didn’t look back as he strode out of the room, not even when Nathanel’s screams began echoing off the walls. The heavy metal doors slamming shut behind him did little to muffle the sound. What he found in the hallway before him, however, at least distracted him.

“Oh, Cassie. First the hairless apes and now this?”

“Balthazar.” Castiel narrowed his eyes. As much as he cared about Balthazar and valued his friendship and loyalty, at times things were still tenuous. “What are you doing here?”

“I may have overheard a little something-something about the weapons of Heaven,” Balthazar said with a callous wave of his hand. “Since you made that my responsibility, I picked up on the intention and decided to grace you with my presence. But it turns out _you’re_ the one who’s surprised _me_. I believe that’s what they call character development?”

Castiel avoided Balthazar’s gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now, Cas. You always were a horrible liar.” Balthazar edged closer and glanced pointedly at the door just as Nathanael screamed again. Castiel was suddenly glad that he had the foresight to ward the place so that other angels wouldn’t hear the cries of pain. “The demon. Why is she here?”

“We have an agreement. Nothing more.” That was true enough.

“Are you certain that’s all?” Balthazar closely inspected Castiel’s face, and he had to consciously remind himself not to squirm under his gaze. “You trust her with extraction of information. Hell, you don’t even trust _me_ with that most days.”

“Meg is gifted,” Castiel elaborated.

“Oh, is she now?” The lower-ranking celestial’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I think I should like to get to know this _Meg_ personally.”

Spending enough time around the Winchesters combined with his familiarity with Balthazar’s quirks allowed the seraph to catch on to the innuendo. “You would sully yourself with an abomination from Hell?”

“I believe the phrase you used was ‘strange times.’” He shrugged. “Besides, I’ve already had my fun with humans. It would hardly be stooping much lower and, as I’ve learned, there’s something to be said for human creativity. Demons must have that times a thousand. And it’s not as if you wouldn’t do the same.”

Now Castiel knew his friend had to be screwing with him. He rolled his eyes and turned to stride back through the doors. Balthazar called after him, “Prove me wrong, Cassie!”

Oh, he would. Whether it took all his strength or none at all, he would prove Balthazar wrong.

As he stepped back into the main room, with its high ceilings and Enochian warding decorating the walls, he saw Meg still in the ring of holy fire with Nathanael. The angel was on his knees, quivering and trembling before the demon. “Please,” he could be heard whimpering. “That’s all I know…no more…”

Meg looked ready to lunge and deliver the final blow, but miraculously, two simple words from Castiel stopped her. “That’s enough.”

Now Meg turned on her heel, and in her face was a certain irritation that seemed determined to sear itself into his memory even if he couldn’t place exactly why that was. Why should her anger make such an impression on him? Dare he even say that he would like to see her like that again?

No. He was just on edge after Balthazar’s accusations. That was all. His fears about whether his brother was right were manifesting themselves. It wasn’t anything more than that.

He couldn’t allow it to be anything more than that.

“Aw.” Meg pouted, but she stepped across the flames regardless, handing him the bloodied blade. With a thought it was wiped clean, and Castiel stored it in his coat. “I was ready to finish him off. I’ve never seen what one of you looks like when your lights go out.”

She was curious, he had noticed. Quite possibly a little too curious. “He’s told you all he knows. So long as he promises not to tell Raphael any of this, it may be safe to keep him as a prisoner.”

It would be a gamble, but perhaps worth the risk.

Nathanael didn’t think so. “It’s bold of you to assume that I won’t alert Raphael of your bedfellow the second I get the chance, Castiel. No one will follow you for the rest of eternity…if you even live that long.”

Castiel opened his mouth to retort, but Meg beat him to the punch, whirling back around to face Nathanael. “Please,” she said dismissively. “You’re just mad because a demon’s more important in this little civil war of yours than you’ll ever be. Gets your jimmies all rustled.” She held her head high, her hands on her hips. The confidence of it all sparked a brief flash of warmth in Castiel’s chest.

Odd.

He wasn’t given time to wonder about that, for that seemed to finally snap Nathanael’s frayed nerves. The angel leapt at them, forgetting the holy fire that lay between. He disintegrated at once right before their eyes. The only thing that lingered was his agonized cry, hanging in the air like the ringing of a bell.

Castiel didn’t notice he had stepped in front of Meg until he felt her tapping his shoulder from behind. “Well then,” she said, stepping back around his side till she was face-to-face with him. “That sure was something. But I’d call it all spectacle, no substance. Could be good with a few rewrites.”

He scowled at her. “You think this is some kind of joke? I could smite you where you stand for your insolence.”

“You won’t.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because you’ve already had a chance and you didn’t do it,” she said. The matter-of-factness of the words didn’t fit the cockiness of her smirk. “And because you were my knight in shining armor just now, Clarence.”

“I was not…” He couldn’t finish, because he knew she was right. It was the same impulse that had seized him when Crowley had a knife pointed at her throat. For whatever reason, he hadn’t wanted to see her hurt. The question remained: What was wrong with him?

Rather than try to find an answer or to respond to her further, he turned his back on her and paced toward the nearest wall. He could start clearing the warding now that Nathanael was dead.

“So…” Her voice snaked through the air and into his ears, entirely too sugary sweet, sending a jolt right down his spine. “My hero. How can I ever repay you for saving my life just now?”

He turned, and she was so close that he could smell the sulfur under her floral perfume. Her expression was as sly and smug as ever, and it was infuriating to him. Why was she not more afraid of him? Did she not realize the dangers of being in his presence? What was it she wanted from him that kept her from just leaving him be?

Why couldn’t he just kill her?

There was only one way to solve this.

His muscles tensed and he clenched his jaw. Then he looped his arms around her waist, hauled her to him, and crashed his mouth against hers.

Her body went lax in his hold until her arms secured around his neck and she made a small sound that made electricity course through his veins.

So he had caught her off guard. Good.

He should have stopped there. He should have let her go, the way she had kissed him and then left him before. But he couldn’t get the image of her standing in the fire out of his mind. She had looked terrifying, wrathful…beautiful.

Without giving her a warning, he spun her around and pinned her against the wall like the first time, not bothering to break away from her. She tasted like smoke and peanut butter, an intoxicating nectar that was only more potent because she was allowing him to drink it from her so willingly. Her soft mouth moved in near-perfect time with his, and the press of her pelvis against his made him hyperaware of all his body’s reactions. His heart pounded so loud and so hard in his chest that he was certain she could feel it, his blood racing hot in his veins, his head feeling lighter and lighter by the minute (had it been mere minutes that had passed?). He should have been embarrassed. More than that, he should have been ashamed. But as long as he kept kissing her, none of those logical feelings made themselves known to him. All he knew was to keep his lips sealed to hers and his tongue diving in and out of her mouth, at the very least so that she wouldn’t taunt him anymore.

Eventually her hands gripped the lapels of his trench coat and started tugging, and that was when he broke away from her. He allowed the barest amount of satisfaction and even pride when he saw her face. Her eyes were still closed, her cheeks flushed and her full, swollen lips puckered as if she were expecting more. Even beneath the human exterior, the demon was disarmed.

For once, he had the upper hand. Now to retain it.

Copying what she appeared to so enjoy doing with him, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her ear. “Tell me where the weapons are,” he murmured. “That’s how you can repay me, Meg.”

He felt her tremble in his grip, and he struggled not to over-think it even as she turned her head to whisper tantalizingly just what he wanted to hear.

As loath as he would be to admit it, it took him a great deal of strength to let her go once he had what he sought.

Her eyes were open again, and she trailed them over his frame. To his own surprise, her piercing gaze didn’t rattle him the way it might have mere weeks ago. “To be continued, then?” Brown eyes were lingering on his crotch, and Castiel cleared his throat before slightly adjusting his coat to cover whatever had drawn her attention.

He should have said no. He should have told her that this wouldn’t happen again, and that if he saw her once more he would end her. Instead what he said as he glanced away was, “Maybe.”

When he looked back, she was gone.

A loud whistle sounded from the doors, and Castiel steeled himself as Balthazar clapped him on the shoulder.

“Looks like this Meg isn’t the only one who’s ‘gifted,’ _Clarence_.”

Castiel glared at him. “Buffalo, Toronto, Munich, Cairo, Mexico City, Shanghai. Those are the cities where the weapons are hidden. Find them and gather them for me.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Balthazar gave a pointed look to where Meg had been standing before and shook his head, an amused smile on his face. A flap of wings sounded and then he was gone, too.

Alone with his thoughts, Castiel’s eyes flickered up to the ceiling and he heaved a sigh. So much weighed on his chest now, and it could only be alleviated by hope.

He hoped Balthazar could retrieve all the weapons.

He hoped he could win this war and lead his kind to true freedom.

And foolishly, he hoped that he might see Meg again and continue things, like she said. Whether that would go where either of them thought or whether they were even on the same page remained to be seen.

One thing was certain though, and it was the only thing he could be certain of today. He knew now why he couldn’t bring himself to harm Meg or to let her be harmed while he was around to prevent it. Against all his better judgment and the teachings with which he had been indoctrinated, a large part of him actually _liked_ this demon. It was stupid and dangerous and neither his brethren nor the Winchesters would ever let him hear the end of it if they knew, but she was spunky and intelligent and useful, and her lips felt nice on his. He wouldn’t hate seeing her again.

If he was lost, it was too late to turn back now. By this point he was skilled at keeping secrets. His growing attachment to Meg would just have to be one more.

Determined to conceal his feelings, he vanished to continue his battle and save the world from total annihilation once again.


	6. Chapter 5: Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel contacts Meg for help in running the new order of the world.

The world was singing in his ears and vibrating through his true form, and Castiel never wanted it to end.

After Bootbock, and after all that had happened in Heaven—the grand execution of his plan to get what remained to follow him and walk in the light—the new God decided to spend some time being better than his Father. He worked miracles, he punished false prophets, he did everything that a loving creator should have done. Above all, he let the sounds of creation echo through him and carry him all over the globe.

How had God been able to resist this call? How had he abandoned this amazing world and his marvelous invention of souls?

Apart from all of that, however, Castiel didn’t have much of a plan of action. He didn’t need one. He was the Almighty now.

His audience with Crowley led him to a different energy, one that pulled on his very core until he absolutely couldn’t resist. When he followed it to the source he couldn’t say that he expected to be led to a run-down motel room in the middle of nowhere, Oregon. He couldn’t say that he expected to be met with an astonished, damp-haired Meg, either.

“What the hell, Clarence?” Meg mumbled.

“It’s the opposite, actually.” He inclined his head in your direction. “And my name isn’t Clarence. I’ve told you that many times.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. The defiance of her body language made something flare up in him, but he tamped it down. He didn’t want to spare it any thought at the moment. At least not while she was scrutinizing him the way her narrowed eyes indicated.

“There’s something different about you,” she determined, and a wry smirk flashed across his lips. Wasn’t pointing out the obvious something for which she had often mocked him and not the other way around? “Can’t quite put my finger on it. What are you on today, Castiel?”

“Not Castiel, either.” He took a step closer to her and all at once realized that something was different about her, too. Not only had she not put makeup on her meatsuit’s face before he arrived, but her edges had sharpened as she had clearly been caught unawares. It was oddly pretty, even though pretty wasn’t the right word. Not really.

“Oh, yeah?” She turned her chin up at him in her insolent way, and he briefly vacillated between disciplining this arrogant thing and admiring her more openly. “What should I call you today, then? The artist formerly known as Prince?”

If that were a reference, he didn’t understand it. He didn’t have time for her jokes, anyway, not when he had such important matters to discuss with her. “No, Meg. You can call me God.”

She blinked at him a few times before abruptly bursting into a fit of laughter. He didn’t see what was funny about this, but he would let her have her moment. His patience seemed to have increased in her presence. Ultimately she could be trusted, he knew, so he was more willing to explain things to her. It didn’t make her amusement any more encouraging. As she finally started regaining her breath, she restrained her mirthful noises just long enough to sputter, “God. God! I can’t…oh, my…” She dissolved into cackling again, and this time he saw fit to interrupt her.

Stepping closer, enough to invade her space and demand her attention, he said, “I’m not joking, Meg. I’m God now. Haven’t you heard of the good works I have done? The people saved, the evildoers punished?”

The laughing stopped then, and she stared up at him as if still waiting for a punch line. “Shit,” she finally breathed. “You’re serious.”

“Very.”

He watched as she sank onto the bed. He didn’t sit with her. She couldn’t have any illusions about where she stood in relation to him now.

“All that crazy, Old Testament stuff on the TV and the radio, and all along the grapevine,” she said, and despite himself he smiled again. They were both well aware that she was older than the very concept of Old Testament versus New Testament. “That’s _you_ , isn’t it?”

He straightened up with well-deserved pride. “Yes, it is. I’m remaking the world. Making it better.”

When she looked up at him, there was hunger in her eyes beyond the human façade. “I’ve heard that line before. It didn’t pan out. What makes you think it’ll go any different for you?”

As had increasingly occurred as of late, he knew exactly what she was talking about. “I’m not Lucifer.”

“Maybe not. But you’re just as good at lying.” Her face hardened. “I heard about Crowley. Is it true? Did you really help him fake his death?”

“I did.” Before he had consumed the souls of Purgatory and made himself the most powerful being in their universe, Castiel might have hesitated in answering Meg. He would have worried about what she thought, or about losing her alliance. But now that he was the Everlasting, he couldn’t be bothered about it. If she knew what was good for her, she would stay by his side regardless. “I do want you to understand. It was not for my benefit, but for yours. I had to keep the truth from you. If you had known, you would have gone after him and he would have killed you. I couldn’t afford to lose your help. I also came to like you.”

Being God also meant he was beyond shame.

She was quiet for a moment. “Heard he turned tail and sided with Raphael. Have you killed him for it yet?”

He shook his head. “No. I need him in charge of Hell still. Not for long,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “Just long enough to make the change in regime a smoother transition.”

“Change in regime?” she asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Yes.” He smiled beatifically. “I want you to take charge of Hell, Meg. Crowley is untrustworthy, but you? You’re loyal. I’ve seen it.”

“Me?” Any previous happiness he may have seen on her paled in comparison to the delight she now wore. “You want me to be the Queen of Hell?”

She was still beaming, and that had another gravitational pull on him. Without thinking, he sat down beside her on the bed. “You can have whatever title you wish.”

“Queen,” she whispered. She wasn’t even looking at him now, instead gazing ahead of her into empty space in the direction of an odd stain on the wall. “King. What about Empress?” At a stern look from him, she snickered. “Too much?”

“Too much,” he confirmed.

“Well, all right, then,” she shrugged. “Queen it is. Has kind of a feminist bent to it. Humans don’t usually expect a Queen of Hell, if they’re smart enough to believe in us at all.”

“No, they don’t.” He had observed enough in the last few days along to be certain of that. “There’s something that I want you to understand, Meg, something very important.”

“Okay.” When she turned to look at him, her eyes were faraway and dreamy. “Shoot, boss.”

_Boss._ He liked that. “Actually, you might understand already. You won’t just be any queen. You’ll answer to me. Hell is going to go through a few changes itself. I want to put regulations on who goes to Hell and who doesn’t, but I can’t abolish it altogether as I still need a threat for my enemies. I explained all this to Crowley, but he was less than perfectly agreeable. I want to know what you think.”

She pursed her lips, and he watched her face with more rapt attention than would be fitting of a being in his current station. “I can see how that could work for me,” she said at last. “Put some blocks on one-way tickets, you weed out the pussies and the weaklings and the sellouts. Leave only the good ones. The scary ones.”

That wasn’t quite his intention, but if she could find a way to spin it in her favor then he supposed it would make it easier to sell the idea. “What do you say to that, then?”

Meg shifted where she sat, and Castiel’s eyes fell on the curve of her waist as it twisted in the motion. “What else can I say? You’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse.” She grinned, and it was wicked. “It’s a yes, boss. I just don’t know how I can ever repay you for this opportunity.”

Pressure alerted him to the presence of her hand on his thigh. He didn’t bat it away, not this time.

“I can think of a way.” He shifted to face her more directly, kneeling on the bed next to her. “You can worship and exalt me the way I’ve earned. You can pledge to stay by my side while we remake the world into something better and beautiful.”

She blinked. “Not quite what I had in mind,” she said slowly, “but I think I can work with it.”

His brow furrowed and he tilted his head in the way that the old Castiel would have done. She had lost him, but he was determined to keep up. She couldn’t just leave him behind with her cryptic words. “What _did_ you have in mind?”

She inched closer to him, and he became aware of the chill that emanated from her true form. “Ever heard the phrase, ‘I’m so happy I could kiss you?’”

He shook his head. “No. Why?”

The demon rolled her eyes and, before Castiel could stop her, she crashed her mouth into his.

The smokiness of her wasn’t as strong as it was the previous times she had kissed him, or maybe he was just stronger now. The cause of the change was inconsequential. Also inconsequential was whatever made him constrict his arms around her like a vice and all but crush her to him. What really mattered was that he was in charge now, and she would know it. She was kissing him because he was _letting_ her kiss him, not just because she wanted to. In fact, if he really wanted to he could smite her for her audacity—or come close to it, since he hadn’t been lying when he said that he couldn’t afford to lose her. Not at this point.

And anyway…maybe she could be of more use to him than just as a puppet Queen of Hell. He did like her, truly. So maybe she could prove to be a companion of sorts, someone who could provide company and the stimulating conversation of which his former friends had proven to be sorely lacking of late. Maybe…maybe…

The sparking sensation of her teeth scraping against his lower lip threw him at top speed out of his own head. Unable to hold back his baser urges even now as God, he growled and pushed her down on the bed, his hands locking around her slender wrists and pinning her there as he broke the kiss and met her challenging stare. The leather of her jacket was soft under his palms, as was her skin.

Odd creature that she was, she appeared to like it. “What are you gonna do now, hotshot?” she purred, wriggling in a way that he was slowly learning to find enticing. Even his new situation in the world had failed to erase that.

The way that he couldn’t stop his eyes from following the movement in a manner that was far too weak for his station made him acutely aware that he’d never been in this position with anyone.

At long last, he answered her. “Whatever I want. I’m God.”

Whether the effect was better or worse than what he expected was impossible to determine, but what he was certain of was that she must have broken something in his brain at some point for him to see her half-lidded black eyes and think that they were the most incredible eyes that he had ever seen.

“Well then…” She stretched luxuriously as much as his restraint of her wrists allowed her. “God. Have your way.”

As if drawn to her body by a gravitational pull, he leaned over her and inched ever closer to her taunting mouth. Oh, yes. He would have his way.

He was centimeters from kissing her again when a voice whispered in his ear and gave him pause. _“What_ is _your way?”_

His eyes narrowed, and he froze. Who was that?

Rather than give a hint, the voice only whispered again, enticing and making entirely too much sense. _“You’re God now, Castiel. The universe bows at your feet. You command oceans, control the cosmos, and yet you would throw away your time fornicating with some lowly, unclean demon? What kind of God does that make you?”_

_To be fair,_ he thought despite all logic telling him that this was not a good sign, _we haven’t fornicated yet._

_“That’s just a small detail. Your Father abandoned this world, and for what? So you could do the same and waste the hours buried in this wretched thing while that world that you rule out there needs you? You’re no better than Him.”_

“Shut up,” he muttered.

Distantly, he knew that Meg was staring at him now. “Uh…God? Castiel? Earth to Castiel?”

_“Don’t mind her, Castiel. What she has to say isn’t important.”_

_She’s said a lot of important things._ Now Castiel was sure that this voice was in his head, and he was arguing with it. There were only a few ways that this could end. The likelihood that any of those ways would be good was slim.

_“There’s only one way to get rid of a distraction,”_ the voice went on, ignoring the protest. _“You have to nip it in the bud. Kill it. Kill_ her _.”_

_…why?_

_“You don’t need her.”_ The words were far too syrupy sweet for what they were suggesting, and not even his own righteousness could stop the feeling of unease that settled in his gut. _“You can’t trust her, not really. You can’t trust anyone but yourself. End it now. Kill her.”_

_No._

_“Kill her, Castiel!”_

“I said NO!”

But even as he uttered his objection aloud, his hand slapped down on Meg’s smooth forehead. Energy began to build in his stomach and warm his veins, spreading outward until his hand began to dimly glow with power. And no matter how badly he wanted to stop this, he couldn’t regain control of his vessel.

The previously alluring black eyes beneath him were wide, and that fear rang through in their owner’s strained voice. “Cas? Clarence?!”

Like a rubber band, he snapped back into his body and shot off the bed, all the way to the opposite end of the room from the demon that he had nearly destroyed with a touch.

What just happened?

“What the fuck, Castiel?” Meg’s voice was shaky but somehow still strong. Angry. He couldn’t blame her.

But he couldn’t begin to explain, either.

The voice may not have been right about needing to end Meg’s life, but it had been correct in another way: No more distractions. God had to be a full-time job from now on. He could no longer allow intrusive thoughts or enigmatic demon women to stand in the way of reforming all creation.

So rather than even try to make her understand and just end up escalating things further as a result, he focused his might and vanished without a word or a sound. A new song rang through his head. It was sublime.


	7. Chapter 6: This Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg hears of Castiel’s death and resigns herself to moving on in this world completely alone, but still she mourns him though she knows she shouldn’t.

Meg was starting to get really tired of squatting in shithole apartments.

Just a year ago she had a life that was practically cushy. Roofs without leaks over her head wherever she went, people to back her up if she had to go into a fight, her sworn enemy not daring to confront her because of the allies that were on her side. Or rather, the one ally that was on her side.

Now he was gone. She’d heard about it through the grapevine, from demons and angels alike, and even a few of the less moronic monsters and spirits that populated her shadowy world. Castiel’s god complex had caught up with him, and now he was dead. Apparently it was because of some of the souls that he had absorbed from Purgatory, more specifically the Leviathans.

Thinking about it brought a pang to her chest. It was almost like when Tom had been killed and she’d found out about it the hard way by possessing Sam as soon as she clawed her way out of Hell. For the first time since the beginning of the apocalypse, she was truly alone.

That didn’t matter. It _shouldn’t_ have mattered. Castiel should have been nothing to her anymore. Hell, he’d almost killed her the last time they saw each other. As far as she was concerned he should have been dead to her. And yet…

When she lost Tom, she’d at least had Lucifer to look forward to even if it had taken her a few months to get back on board with the end of the world and the paradise that had been promised to her. Now, what did she have? A world full of chompers and demons who would deliver her head on a plate to a smarmy dick of a king.

That, and part of her had actually grown to like the seraph. Maybe not when he was quite so high on himself, but before all that he’d been a halfway decent conversationalist. Overly literal, maybe, and a little thick when it came to pop cultural references, but still good enough to spend time with. He never talked down to her. He very well could have, and she in fact would have expected him to. Angels were like that in general, from what she’d learned since they came down to earth and waged war on her kind. But not him. He had treated her like she was actually worth keeping alive. If she hadn’t known better, she might even have said that he liked her, too.

It was a good thing demons didn’t cry, otherwise Meg might have embarrassed herself.

Not that she would have cried over him.

Not that she almost shed a tear when she first heard the news.

Not that she missed him for more than just the protection he had provided her from those who wanted her dead.

Not that she thought about the way his lips felt on hers every night and wondered how they would have felt elsewhere, and then think what a shame it was that she’d never get the chance to find out.

(Why did he have to be such a damn good kisser?)

She’d been so lost in her thoughts, letting them carry her through jump after jump in the woods through North America, that now she didn’t even know where she was. Luckily a quick stroll took her right to a visitor’s center that let her know she was somewhere in Colorado.

Well, at least the scenery was pretty.

Once she’d stretched out her senses and wandered around downtown, it didn’t take her long to feel out an abandoned studio. She didn’t exactly have much to set up in it, either. What belongings she had, she kept on her person. And they weren’t much. The clothes she wore, tiny pans of makeup, a sample bottle of perfume, and two sharp daggers—one silver, the other iron—were her only possessions. As long as nobody caught onto her being here, it would be good enough. Nobody would know if she did what she had done to her previous hideouts and warded the place.

She was shopping for cans of spray paint for her art project when she overheard a couple of low-level demons speaking in quiet voices in an alley as she passed by. Ordinarily she’d have turned tail and run, but what they were saying was far too interesting for her to pass up.

“He kinda wanders around,” one of them was whispering to the other. “Or so they say. Heard there was a hunter who was blind in one eye, and this Emmanuel guy shows up and heals him just like that. Doesn’t even ask for pay.”

“Whoever he is, he’s gotta have a lotta juice,” the other demon said. “And not a lotta brains.”

Meg rolled her eyes. They had to be pretty new to this; otherwise they’d know that there was only one species that could pull that kind of stunt without making some kind of deal first.

She shut up the hopeful voice in her head that said there was only one member of that species who would go around healing humans of his own volition.

Still, if there was an angel around and he was friendly with humans, there was a chance that he could be sympathetic to the plight of a rogue demon and agree to cover her tracks until she could move on to the next town.

The two newbies didn’t sense her until she was halfway down the alley to them. One of them managed to smoke out, leaving an empty body behind, and Meg cursed her luck. But the other was clearly too freaked to do much but just stare at her with his mouth agape.

“You…” He swallowed. “You’re _old_. Who are you?”

Meg flashed her pearly whites and shoved the younger demon up against the brick wall, drawing her iron knife out of her pocket. “Doesn’t matter, sweet cheeks. What matters is that you tell me who this Emmanuel is and where he is. Matter of fact, just tell me everything you know, and I _might_ let you live.”

“And if I don’t?” He was trying to put up a brave front, but Meg could see right through it to the simpering coward that he was.

“Then I kill you right now and call it a day.” She didn’t know what had him whimpering first, the words themselves or her casual shrug as she spoke them. Either way it was entertaining, and her poker face ensured he had no clue that she didn’t have a weapon on her which could ice him. “So. Emmanuel. Tell me about him.”

“He, uh…”

Impatiently, Meg drew a sharp line down his meatsuit’s cheek with the tip of her blade. The flesh simmered and smoked, and he let out a decidedly un-macho squeak.

“Okay, okay! They say he lives with his wife in the suburbs. I don’t know which neighborhood, but I know it’s in town. His wife is Daphne. Daphne Allen.”

Daphne Allen. Well, that should be easy enough for Meg to track down. And according to what she knew about angels, marriage was far from encouraged. So this Emmanuel guy might very well be willing to help her out after all.

“Thanks, sugar,” Meg purred. “Now here’s a present for all your help.”

The demon was short enough that she didn’t have to stand on her toes to give him a rough kiss. The kiss itself was actually a little boring, but the way he froze was funny, so it let her know that this wasn’t the worst way to distract him. Sure enough she soon felt his tongue trying to pry its way into her mouth, and that was her cue.

She pulled back, grinning at the way his mouth was still open and his eyes still closed before she grabbed his tongue, pressed her knife against it, and began to saw.

His screams were muffled and garbled by the blood and smoke that flooded his throat, and even though some of it splashed out onto Meg’s face she couldn’t find it in her to mind. He was too new for it to even occur to him to just vacate his meatsuit, and that was hilarious to her. Once the muscle was completely severed, she dropped it unceremoniously onto the ground where it landed with a wet plop.

A drop of blood had landed on her lower lip. She licked it off and smirked.

“I’d better not see you around.” Now that was done, she sauntered off and popped into the nearest neighborhood.

It took a few tries, but eventually she started to feel a power humming through a whole neighborhood. Easy to follow, and weirdly familiar to her, like she’d felt it running in her system before.

At last she ended up at a modest-sized dwelling. A series of steps led up to a front porch, and from there looked like a quaint little home. She guessed it would make sense for an angel to live as inconspicuous an existence as he could when he was breaking so many rules already.

From inside she heard noises. Steps coming toward the door, a woman bidding farewell to an Emmanuel. Definitely the right place. Then there was another voice, and Meg froze. She _knew_ that voice.

Struck by fear and who knew what else, she made a beeline for the hedges that bordered the sidewalk and hid behind them, only peeking out through the leaves when she was certain that she couldn’t be seen from the other side.

The second the front door opened, Meg tasted ozone typical of angels and something distinct underneath, and it lit a small flame in her belly.

Emmanuel was walking down the steps and turning onto the sidewalk. He was dressed like any other normal man: Plain gray pants, sensible shoes, a kind of dorky blue sweater that had no right to accentuate his shoulders the way that it did. Because she had gripped those shoulders before, and despite that she could hardly believe her eyes.

“Castiel,” she breathed.

As if he heard her, his head turned sharply in her direction. She held her breath, and not just to maintain her cover.

His eyes were that same stormy ocean blue, and if she’d had any doubts in her mind about his identity, they were expunged now. She wasn’t mistaken or imagining things. He really had returned from the dead.

How could it be? He had dissolved. She’d heard that was what happened and seen the evidence from afar in the Leviathans that were roaming the earth. There should have been no coming back from that, especially not in that vessel. If it weren’t for the muted glow behind his face, she would have thought it was a fluke, and that this was just some dude who looked a lot like Castiel’s meatsuit.

But there _was_ that bright light and the halo surrounding his head. And she was smiling in a way she hadn’t thought she could manage in a long time.

Well, it was official. For one reason or another, for herself or for this goddamn angel, there would be no turning back now.

Before long she felt another presence, and this one was darker. Another demon. Peeking out from behind the hedges again, she saw a man dressed similarly to Castiel approaching the house, then going inside. Of course, what she saw beneath the meat wasn’t a man at all, not anymore. Daphne was going to be in big trouble. Whatever. It was no skin off her nose. Then again, Castiel could return anytime and find a demon waiting for him who would then want to take him to Crowley…

Meg was preparing herself to jump out and rush inside to waste the demon when another distraction caught her attention. A clunky car engine rumbled up by the curb, and once again it bore someone she knew. Dean Winchester got out of the car and headed right up the steps of the house.

_There we go,_ she thought. _Dean’ll take care of that sucker, and I can keep my cover. Easy._

She was proven right when the corpse of the man the demon was possessing tumbled down the concrete steps and landed right at Castiel’s feet. Idly she wondered if Cas had sensed his little wifey in danger and come to the rescue. The thought made her nauseous and tinted the edges of her vision with red.

Of course, she wasn’t jealous or anything. It was just frustrating to see someone so powerful reduced to such weakness. That was all.

That frustration kept her from noticing that Castiel had gone inside with Dean until they were both already gone, but she didn’t seem to have missed much as a few minutes later they were emerging and getting in the old junker that Dean had driven here.

_What happened to the Impala? And where the hell are they going?_ Standing up straight, she waited until the car rounded the corner before making up her mind. She was going to follow them until they stopped. From there, she would make it up as she went. But as long as demons were on their tail they would need her. There would be no arguing with that.

She would be safe again. She would keep Castiel out of Crowley’s clutches. And she wouldn’t be so alone.

With concentration she rarely afforded this power, she closed her eyes, homed in on the car and the celestial being inside it, and disappeared.


	8. Chapter 7: Break the Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg looks after a dissociated Castiel and finds herself growing fond of him.

Click. Click. Click.

Meg fiddled with her pen in time with the ticking of the clock on the wall. There wasn’t usually much else to do on nights like tonight. Yeah, she had volunteered to watch over Castiel while he was stuck here in the hospital, but all that meant was that she was just as trapped as he was.

He wasn’t always off in dreamland like he was right now. Sometimes he did wake up, though he didn’t usually say anything. At one point Meg had strictly watched over him at night, but one day Castiel came to in the middle of the day and just stared the other nurse. According to Dr. Kadinsky he had even started mumbling in tongues. Of course, Meg knew better; Cas had probably just started going off in Enochian. But it had freaked out the day nurse enough that Meg had offered to watch over the broken angel full time.

It was just as well. There was always a chance that Castiel might use his mojo in his sleep or something, and how was Meg supposed to keep their cover then? It was better if she was the only witness to any possible antics.

What she would give for there to _be_ any possible antics right now. She had read through this tabloid, what? Five times now? Amusing as all the ridiculous stories and human drama were the first time around, it was getting old. Not to mention that she had been here all day, not able to even return to the little apartment she had rented for herself once she got this job. She guessed she couldn’t really complain too much when she had kind of gotten herself into this mess.

She didn’t even know if Castiel was going to be useful to her when he was finally awake full-time. Why was she staying?

The haunted look on his face as he lay on that standard-issue bed caught her eye, and she found herself wondering just what he was seeing. Sometimes she thought she had an idea. He had taken on Sam’s damage from the Cage, so he had to be seeing Lucifer. Right?

Other times he would mumble things that she had no hope of understanding. How was she supposed to help him at all if she didn’t know what was going on inside his head?

More importantly, why did she care?

She didn’t have time to meditate over it and she’d never been much of a deep thinker when it came to emotions anyway. Castiel was sitting up now, but not looking at her. No, he was staring straight ahead, his big blue eyes somehow even wider than normal, his frame just barely trembling.

So it was definitely Lucifer this time. She should have wanted to just see how it played out, and one side of her totally did. She’d always had a morbid curiosity. But another side of her that she didn’t really understand was urging her to try and help. Rather than confront that urge, she wrote it off as just needing him to trust her.

“Hey.” If he heard her, he didn’t give any indication. That much was no different from most other days. Sighing, she rose to her feet and slowly made her way to stand at the foot of the bed. “Tree-topper. Earth to Castiel.”

Saying his name got his attention, just not in the way that she would have necessarily wanted. With all the great speed of a snail, he tilted his head back until his eyes were boring into hers. Then he made as small a sound as someone with such a deep voice could make and scrambled backward on the bed.

Even now, she had no clue whether he was hallucinating or just seeing her true face and freaking out. There were times that he appeared to remember her, and then there were times that he showed no signs of recognition. Just fear.

“So this is what we’re doing tonight.” She sighed and followed him, walking around the bed but never touching him. She had learned that touching him when he was like this had a less than comforting effect, and the last thing she needed was him winging off with no way for her to follow him in the middle of the night. “It’s okay. I can be patient.”

Just as he had been for the last couple of days, he was silent. Meg was prepared to endure the rest of the night in that crushing quiet, and she was just starting to go back to her chair when suddenly he spoke.

“Are you here to bring me to Lucifer?”

Her brow crumpled, but she was able to smooth out her expression before turning around to face him again. _One step forward, four steps back._ “No, Castiel. It’s me, Meg. Remember?”

He nodded. “I know. I hurt you before. Are you here to bring me to Lucifer?”

It took her a second to realize just what he meant by that. “No, Castiel,” she said again. “I’m not here to bring you to Lucifer. Or to get revenge, or anything like that. It’s actually a little weird for me.”

“Then why are you here?” His question was delivered with such innocence that it kept Meg anchored to the floor and nearly knocked her over all at once. “Why are you here if I hurt you?”

Now it was her turn to be silent. Step after slow step, she went back to the side of the bed. Then she just gestured to the mattress. Exactly as he would have before he lost his marbles, he scooted over to make room for her. It was only once she’d had a chance to sit down that she gave him some sort of answer to his question. “Well, Castiel. I’m mostly here because nobody else is. Your so-called friends left you high and dry here, and if I didn’t stay Crowley would get his paws on you. That wouldn’t be the best scenario for me, either. And…” She took a deep breath and wrestled her tongue out of her throat where it threatened to choke her on her next words. “We’re sort of friends, too. In a ‘backing each other up during torture sessions’ way. I don’t really like it, but it’s just how it is.”

When she looked over at him again, he was gazing into space.

She sighed. “You’re not gonna remember any of this, are you?”

He shrugged.

It occurred to her then that this just might work out in her favor. There would be no resentment from him toward her later if he just couldn’t remember. And there would be no embarrassing herself, either. She could just speak her mind and it would even matter, as if it never happened.

“Why do you hang around those two anyway?” she asked. “Sam and Dean. I mean, I think I know why, but come on. They left you here in the care of an actual, literal demon from Hell. You know, the kind of thing that they’re supposed to hate and hunt to the end of the earth. I’ve pulled more shit on them than just about anyone else. Doesn’t it strike you as a little odd that they left you here with me?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You worked with them once. You’re good.”

Keeping down the laugh that bubbled up in her throat seemed to be an impossible task. “Cas—”

“Trustworthy,” he went on. “I know it. Even if they don’t know why, they know it, too. And if you betray me to the demons, well…I’ll deserve it. And I’ll deserve whatever they do to me.”

She blinked. “Why the hell do you think that?”

“I’ve done terrible things, Meg,” he said simply. “Things that even you wouldn’t be able to fathom. I should have listened to Dean. He said I should have listened to him. He was right.”

Even though she had no way to know just how long this spell of lucidity would last, even though she should have taken advantage of it to learn things that he probably wouldn’t have told her otherwise, she was unexpectedly stuck on that one notion. _Dean_ said this, _Dean_ said that. _Dean_ was always right. As if she didn’t already want to strangle the guy, now she knew he was making Cas feel like crap about himself?

To be fair, she didn’t know that for sure, but she had a hunch that was where this was going to go.

“What did Dean say to you, Castiel?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to reply, then hesitated. His eyes flicked from one end of the room to the other. Then he began to speak. “He didn’t forgive me for what I did to the world and to Sam. I broke everything. I don’t deserve forgiveness, or the Winchesters’ friendship. He was right.”

Why she had been expecting anything other than a non-answer, she couldn’t say. But that much was on her. For now, she had to do her nurse thing and try to help him feel better. “Look, Cas…I’m not gonna say that you don’t need better friends. But I’m not gonna say what I really think about those two because you already know what I think even if it’s buried way down deep in that noodle of yours. What I am gonna say is that no matter what you do, the weight of the world shouldn’t be on your shoulders. Nobody was made to handle that. And I’ve been around a long time and seen a lot of martyrs, so believe me, I know. You don’t have to end up like that. You deserve better.”

She had turned away to face the wall to her right, picking idly at a piece of lint that had clung to her scrubs in the dryer the day before. Because of that, she sensed rather than saw his eyes on her profile. When she turned, her brow was furrowed with an irritation so bare that it confused even her.

“What?”

He was still looking at her. Studying her. He hadn’t looked at her that way since before he went missing. For a second it was as if he were completely sane. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m your nurse.” That much was easy enough to brush off. “It’s kinda my job now. I’m making a pretty penny for it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His soft, warm fingers grazed her cheek, and an electric current that had nothing to do with his grace raced from the point of contact all the way down her spine. How did he do that? “It’s not part of an act, or a front to preserve your identity. It’s in you. I can see it. Like…a light, deep down inside. Kindness.”

Any other time she would have made some snarky remark or recoiled at the very insinuation that she had any kindness in her heart, but all at once, Meg didn’t have a voice to do so anymore. It had flown the coop right when she needed it most.

Worse than that, what was it that she was _feeling_ right now? It was warm and soft and made her belly feel kind of gooey, and she despised it. As a matter of fact, if the roiling in her core was any indication, it was actively opposing her demonic nature. So just what was she supposed to do with it?

Maybe lessening the proximity to him would be a temporary cure. Yeah, that was worth a try. Following that line of logic, she stood and headed back to her chair. “Well, I appreciate the sentiment, Cas, but I really don’t think you’re right on that one.” He wasn’t saying anything to that, but a bit of a lag was normal. She whirled on her heel to see if she could catch him getting ready to respond, but he hadn’t moved. He was motionless as stone once again.

With a sharp exhale, she pushed him back down in a resting position with as much care as she could muster. Then she sank into her chair, abruptly exhausted. She’d never been quite so prone to getting tired until now. Was it being cut out from Hell’s upper ranks, or was that warmth that was awakening inside of her?

Whatever. Specifics didn’t matter. At least she could take comfort in the knowledge that the seraph lying before her wouldn’t remember any of her newly budding sentimentality the next time he woke up.


	9. Chapter 8: You and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frightened and grieving his fallen brethren, Castiel seeks out a friend.

Castiel had heard the phrase “deafening silence” before, but it was only now as he sat alone atop a tall, breezy bluff that he truly comprehended just what that meant and how literal it really was.

Despite the fact that he did not want to fight or try his hand at leading again given what a disaster his last attempt had been, he had stayed in contact with Inias and the other members of the garrison when they took the prophet Kevin Tran to safety. He had been expecting some sort of update from anyone he knew—the angels, the Winchesters, his caretaker Meg—but other than a call from Dean that did not end very well, he heard nothing.

He missed Meg. Without her there, no matter how much time he spent watching the bees and communing with them to gather their honey, he was in danger of slipping into worry and doubt. She had kept his nerves from fraying back in the hospital, and from time to time he considered flying back there just to see if he could find some of that peace again.

Once he actually did teleport into the gardens in the middle of the night. Rather than serene, though, it just felt empty now that he didn’t have the company of his nurse. Strange, wasn’t it, that a demon could provide solace? It only reinforced his notion that she was somehow special, even if she never believed him when he told her so and always brushed off the amateur poetry he had tried to compose in her honor.

Just like the garden, this endless quiet, something that should have been calming, was in fact just a cause for great concern. Where was his garrison? Had they delivered Kevin Tran to his home and protected him from danger? Why weren’t they talking to him?

The next logical step would be to just check on the prophet himself. But the thought of carrying that out made his stomach lurch. If the garrison hadn’t checked in with him by now, what if that meant that they _couldn’t_ talk to him? What if something terrible had happened to them, and he wasn’t there to stop it?

Restlessness drove him to stand, and the wind buffeted his trench coat around his legs.

He had to go find them. He had to go see what had happened. He wouldn’t fight, but he would go and take a look.

Soon, he would wish he hadn’t even done that.

The home of Kevin Tran was empty, but Castiel could smell rot and decay on the air when he appeared in the foyer. There was only one creature that smelled so strongly of death and mildew, and his heart constricted in his chest. No…

Still, as if drawn in by some invisible tether, his feet continued to carry him farther into the house. The scent got stronger, the air compressing his every cell and threatening to suffocate him. He could remember the deep darkness in which he had been engulfed when the Leviathan overtook him, and he very nearly fled in fear of it happening again.

But no. He had to stand his ground. Meg would have helped him to be brave, wouldn’t she?

_I should have run away,_ he thought as he stepped into the kitchen. The corpses of angels, members of his garrison, lay scattered on the floor, ashen wings burned into the linoleum where they had landed.

And Kevin Tran was gone.

“No,” he whispered, backing out of the kitchen and toward the front door, stumbling over the breaks in the hallway and a clay pot that held umbrellas, knocking over the latter with a crash. “No, no, no, no, no…”

Breath racing in and out and the blood draining from his face, he spiraled and spiraled until he disappeared. Then he did something he hadn’t done in years.

He screamed. His true voice cried out through the cosmos, punctuating each of his haphazard landings. Glass broke around him when he materialized in an abandoned gas station, birds spooked and scattered as he fell into a forest, but none of the individuals to whom he was calling answered him. His garrison was silent. He couldn’t even feel them.

He was the last one.

Angels weren’t made to cry, at least not in the human sense of the word. Humans released their emotions through tears and sobs, a physical expression of the conflicted energy that the feelings wrought upon them. Angels, on the other hand, _were_ energy. They were creation itself concentrated into the form of a multidimensional wavelength. When they had emotions in need of release, it came off them similarly in waves. Those waves could knock out power lines or cause thunderstorms with their intensity. When an angel cried, the world cried with them.

He was far from any electrical power grids when he finally stopped to let out his sheer _feeling_ , so when he wept, clouds gathered in the sky, lightning struck the ground, and rain poured down and drenched him. He didn’t care. Nothing could fix this ache, and no one could understand his pain. Except…

_“We’re sort of friends, too.”_

He found shelter under a tree with low-hanging branches so he could take his phone out of his pocket without ruining it. Soon, he was waiting with bated breath for the being on the other end of the line to pick up.

_“Hello?”_ Meg’s voice sounded muffled, as if she had just woken up. That was odd.

“Meg.” He didn’t understand why he should bother with trivial greetings. “It’s me. Where are you?”

_“Uh…my safe house in Budapest. Why?”_

Budapest. He had visited Budapest with her once, before he made the grave mistake of trying to become God, and he knew exactly what she was talking about. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

_“Wait—Cas—”_

When he appeared in the little house just outside Budapest, he was met with a little resistance. It didn’t occur to him why that might have been; all that mattered was that he found Meg.

The demon was sitting up on her large bed, staring at him with incredulous black eyes. She was fully dressed but her hair and clothing were in slight disarray, her dark blue leather jacket contrasting with her pale skin. No verses came to his mind today, though. All he wanted was comfort, and he pursued it at once.

She didn’t return the embrace when he sat down on the bed with her and threw his arms around her, not at first. As a matter of fact she was stiff as a board. But then he felt her arms gradually encircling him, and if she were hesitant about it, that observation was at the very back of his mind.

“What’s going on, Castiel?” she asked. “What are you doing here? I told you the last time you called me that I needed to lie low.”

“Yes,” was all he said, and he held on to her tighter. Maybe if he just held her, some of the consolation she’d had to offer him in the past could be absorbed into him and she wouldn’t have to do anything. That didn’t seem to be working the way he wanted, though, as right now, he didn’t feel any better about what he had seen.

“Cas.” She pulled back and her hands found either side of his face. This was better than just hugging her, he decided. This was grounding him. “I need you to tell me what happened and why you’re here. Start from the beginning. Okay?”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. Start from the beginning…yes, he could manage that. “I was…well, I was wandering. I was looking for something peaceful, like what the bees have. They work hard, but they have definitive purpose that they don’t question. As a matter of fact I went to the gardens back at the hospital a week ago because I was missing you, you see, and there weren’t any bees because it was nighttime. It was just quiet and dark. That made me wonder just what the bees do when they’re not collecting honey and feeding the hive. Do they all sleep? They can’t all sleep all at the same time, surely a few must stand watch in case something comes to attack the hive…”

“Hey.” Her voice was soft but firm, and it pulled him directly out of his tangent. It also made him notice that her cheeks had reddened. “Focus, Castiel. Get to the point.”

He nodded, at least as much as he could while she was still holding his face. “Yes. So, during my wandering, I realized that my garrison hadn’t contacted me to let me know that Kevin Tran was returned to his home safely. I hadn’t heard from any of them since I last saw them. I decided to go to Kevin’s home to see for myself what had happened, and…I found them dead.” He couldn’t keep his voice from breaking, not that he even gave it a try. “The entire garrison is gone. They’re _gone_ , Meg.”

Now that he knew her better, he could recognize the look on her face as one of sympathy. “Okay, let’s think about this for a second before we panic.”

“But I’ve already panicked.”

“…so let’s think about this for a second before we panic _more_ , all right?”

He nodded again. “All right. What do you want me to think about?”

Her hold on his cheeks loosened, and a rush of fear made him reach up to keep her hands in place. He wasn’t ready to be let alone to drift out to sea, not yet. “How many of your garrison did you find at Kevin’s house?”

“Uh…” He thought back on it, squeezing his eyes shut at the memory. “Two. There were two.”

“And how many did you have in your garrison?”

“Five,” he said. “Well, four, since you killed Hester.”

He thought he felt her thumbs stroke his skin, but when he opened his eyes to look at her she didn’t appear to have moved at all. “That makes two dead, two unaccounted for, right? They’re just missing. Maybe they went to cover their own asses when they heard about what went down for themselves. You can calm down a little knowing that, right?”

Shaking his head, he met her eyes. “I couldn’t feel them, Meg. They didn’t answer me.”

“Maybe they went back upstairs,” she suggested. “It’s probably safer for them up there. They could have gone to regroup and decide what to do next. No need to freak out. Don’t freak out on me.” Only then did she remove her hands, and immediately he reached out to hold them both in his grip and was pleased when she didn’t fight him. “You got any idea what did it? Enemy angels, demons, what?”

“None of those things.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “It was the Leviathan. Nothing else could do what I saw had been done to their vessels. It was…”

He felt her squeeze her hands, and this time he was certain that it was real. “Hey. Listen to me. It’s gonna be okay. Sam and Dean are gonna ice those sons of bitches, and then you angels won’t have anything to worry about anymore. Well, except each other. And me, of course.” Her smile should have been soothing, but it did nothing to ease the burden that had settled on his shoulders.

_I did this._

Then, something else she said reverberated in his head and gave him an idea. “Sam and Dean. They’ll want to know that Kevin is missing.”

“Let me guess,” Meg said. “The chompers have Kevin, and without the little nerdy prophet it’s gonna be that much harder to take care of the big threats later on down the road.” She paused, and Castiel wondered what she was going to say next. “That’s too bad. I’ll be rooting for them from here.”

“No.” Suddenly he stood, and even he wasn’t sure why until he started talking. “No, I have to go to them and let them know. And you…” He turned to her, imploring. “You have to come with me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No,” she said almost in echo of him. “There is no way I’m getting dragged back into a Winchester mess. Not this time.”

“Meg…” Now he was kneeling, taking her hands in his again. “Please. I have to warn them. They need to know what’s coming. But I can’t…I can’t face them on my own. I need you there.”

Her gaze turned downward, and she shook her head. “Cas…”

He didn’t give her time to give him a negative answer again. In the blink of an eye, they disappeared from the house, leaving it empty and smelling of sulfur and ozone.


	10. Chapter 9: Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg resists torture in Hell, and when Crowley wants to break her, he gets creative.

“Good afternoon, little whore.”

The crooning tones of Crowley’s voice reached Meg even before he stepped into her cell. It had been like this for the last couple of days Hell-time, ever since his men captured her after the siege on Sucrocorp. She was still pissed at herself for even going along and helping. _Why_ had she even considered it in the first place? There had been nothing in it for her except all the dangers associated with being out in public. Castiel had even insisted that she stay behind, saying he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of her running into a firefight. But Dean had needed a distraction for his plan to work, and Meg had wanted to help for some reason. Maybe she should just give up on ever understanding it.

“Hello, Crowley,” she ground out, refusing to even look at the king as he sauntered toward her. She already knew he would be wearing that same smug smile and posh suit he always had on. If she ended up staining it with her own blood over the course of this little getaway, she would be happy.

“Now, darling. You don’t sound happy to see me.” Fingers grasped her chin, but she could feel the claws underneath and so she followed the gesture and reluctantly turned her face to look at him. Yep, there was that self-satisfied grin. And for what? He didn’t even do any heavy lifting.

“Sorry if I’m not exactly overjoyed. My wrists are kinda chafing.” She tugged on the shackles that went all the way up to the ceiling and kept her standing all hours of the day, which at present was super annoying. The chains rattled as if in response. “So…”

He followed the sound, looking up at the chain and seeming more amused by her show of impudence than anything else. “Don’t think I’m gonna let you off easy, sweetheart. I told you I would roast you like you’re jerky once I got you home, and I meant it.”

“Yeah, about that.” She tilted her head. “I’ve kinda been waiting on that for the last couple of days. The suspense is killing me, rex. When are you gonna make with the stabbing and the slashing and the hellfire? I mean, I know you’ve been doing things a little differently since you took over, but come on. I’ve never been less impressed.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Just you wait. You’ll see what I’ve got in store just for you.”

His shoes left no echo as he left the cell, and the door made no sound as it closed behind him. Meg was left in all-encompassing, suffocating silence. She had to hand this much to him; the solitary confinement thing was a creative form of hellish torment. Not that it would do much. She was used to being all on her own, and besides, she could always fill the silence herself and annoy Crowley at the same time. So she opened her mouth to sing a bawdy song and…

Nothing. Her vocal cords moved, but it was like trying to talk underwater. Completely futile.

Damn.

Fortunately for her, she had been through Hell more than once and come out the other side. Whatever Crowley had to throw at her, she could take it. Plus, she’d been immortal now for a couple thousand years. Even if it was days before anyone came in to break the silence, it would be like mere minutes to her perception. She would be totally fine, and she would _not_ let that smarmy dick break her.

What did he even plan to do with her anyway? He hadn’t given any indication that he wanted any information from her. The Lucifer loyalist movement was dead now, anyway. She didn’t have anything useful to tell him. If she did, would he let her go after she told him or would he kill her? Worse still, would he just keep her down here like some kind of plaything? That was the one thing that she would concede to him. She didn’t know what the game was or what the rules were, and the likelihood of her finding out anytime soon was extraordinarily slim.

Still, she was determined to get herself out of this pit, whatever it took.

She ended up being right about the next visit from anybody taking days. But she lasted that long, so when the black-eyed lackey entered the cell, she met him head-on with a defiant glare.

“Crowley’s really down to the dregs now, isn’t he?” she quipped, glad she could make sounds once more, holding her head up high. The demon didn’t say anything, just pulled out a knife that Meg immediately recognized as one of Alastair’s. The notion that Crowley was letting half-baked mooks use the Grand Inquisitor’s tools set her blood on fire, so much so that she didn’t even flinch as the sharp edge of the blade sliced a line down the meaty part of her cheek.

Oh yeah, he had no clue what he was doing. It just made his use of this knife even more infuriating.

“Crowley said I could have my fun with you,” he said, and from the tone of his voice alone Meg could tell that he was a cocky son of a bitch, too. She was going to have a grand old time flaying him from the inside out once she freed herself.

“Oh, yeah?” she shot back. “I bet you’re gonna have _tons_ of fun painting by numbers. Since that’s all it takes to get demonized these days. You kids and your little cuts and big talk.”

The demon abruptly yanked up the hem of her shirt and dug a long groove right down the middle of her torso all the way to her navel. It stung, and she grit her teeth through it, but she’d had worse. Mostly she was just annoyed that, since Crowley had dragged her down here in her meatsuit, her shirt was going to be ruined with her own blood. Though she’d been meaning to pick up some new threads anyway, so she could spin this as just being incentive to go shoplifting once she was topside again.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” she spat after the sting of the wound had subsided a little. The demon glowered at her, and Meg braced herself for the most boring hour of torture she would ever have the misfortune of experiencing.

Following that was another period of solitude. Meg had a feeling that this was a trait of her punishment that would be relatively consistent and therefore predictable. Boring. Leave it to Crowley to be so fucking transparent already.

When the door opened again weeks later, she refused to see who it was or to ask what they wanted of her. More than likely they just wanted to cut her up and watch her heal again, like last time.

But she knew the voice that reached her ears.

“Meggie, my girl.” The sound curled around her ears and made her look to the demon who had entered the room. It took her all her willpower not to groan audibly.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

She couldn’t tell who the demon really was, not under this veneer that it was wearing. The fake meatsuit was one she had only seen once or twice but knew had been a custodian at a hospital, but that wasn’t what made her rattle her chains in exasperation. That would be the yellow eyes that stared back at her.

“Why so doubting, Meggie?” fake-Azazel asked her, tilting his head in a way that she was now acutely aware she had initially picked up from him. This demon intern was a good actor, that much she would admit. “You’ve seen those Winchester boys come back from the dead before. Why’s it so hard to believe in your old man?”

“Because we don’t get to come back.” Her voice remained droll. “Not ever. Even you told me you never knew a demon who got to come back from the dead, or even knew what happens to us when we do die, _father_.”

The yellow eyes glimmered in a way Azazel’s never did in life, and if Meg hadn’t been certain of all this being an illusion before, she was now. She’d heard of this technique being used, taking the form of a torture victim’s loved ones to get to the psychological element. She’d never had the patience to engage in it herself even though when she had power in Hell, she could have reshaped her appearance however she saw fit. Alastair used to praise that about her. He’d call her honest. But now Alastair was no more, and this shapeshifting nonsense was the new norm.

Or so she could guess, by the fact that someone so low-level was being allowed to do this to her at all.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t come back to retake my crown?” The demon stepped closer to her and grabbed her face with cold, clammy hands. “I know we had a falling-out the last time we saw each other, but come on, kid. Have a little faith.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

Fake-Azazel heaved a sigh and stepped away. “Fine. If you won’t believe me, then maybe you’ll believe Tommy.”

Meg’s heart sank into her stomach. _They wouldn’t…_

Apparently they would. A perfect facsimile of Tom walked in, wearing the same meatsuit as when she last saw him, before Dean Winchester killed him.

(She’d never really gotten onto him for that, had she? She would just have to bring it up when she made it back to earth. Any day now.)

“Hey, little sis,” he said, and it was like a knife twisted in her gut. She and Tom were considered twins, by demonic standards, as they were taken off the rack at the same time and both were subsequently molded into what they were by Azazel. But in life, he had always insisted on calling her “little sis,” and she would always elbow him in the stomach for it. Or stab him, depending on the day.

How had they known those little quirks of their relationship? How could they possibly know this much about her dead family?

Those questions and their answers didn’t matter in the long run. She would put up a stony front, and that would be enough to call it a day.

“Hey, fake-Tom,” she said with a roll of her eyes so dramatic she was surprised the wonky physics in Hell didn’t make it audible. “How’s tricks? Enjoying being not-dead?”

“Ouch.” He put a hand over his heart, but quickly became serious again. At least that much was right. “That smarts, Meg. Here I was glad to see you again.”

“Oh yeah?” She shot him a glare that could kill. “If you’re so glad, tell me how you died? How you really died. And what exactly you were doing when it happened.”

“I got shot with the Colt, of course,” he scoffed.

Meg leveled another stare at him. “Where?”

“Uh…” He trailed off. “My memory’s a little fuzzy from the moment of, but…here.” He pointed to his heart.

At the utter incompetence of this demon in what amounted to a metaphysical Halloween costume, Meg couldn’t help but throw her head back and cackle until she was out of breath. They really thought they could get her to crack now after _that_?

When she finally could talk without wheezing, she shook her head. “Get the hell out of here, slick. Your little tricks ain’t gonna work on me. Not when I knew my father and my brother better than I know myself.” Both the imposters had frozen, glancing fearfully at each other, and Meg took the opportunity to bark, “Go on, scram!”

They bolted out the door, slamming it behind her. She could endure being alone now for however long they left her, so long as they didn’t put her through such piss-poor acting ever again. Then again, she doubted she’d be so lucky.

She didn’t know how much time passed before they changed things up. It could’ve been weeks, or it could have been years. That was the rub of being in Hell and also being functionally immortal. Human souls had a better grasp of how much time went by downstairs, but for demons it was all but inconsequential. It was even harder for her to know because the days that she actually saw anybody were so much the same. The phony versions of her family would come around and try to worm their way inside her head, or a demon or two—who she could only assume were the same who impersonated Azazel and Tom—would bring knives and slice into her and let her heal before doing it all over again, or Crowley would show up for a minute or two to gloat. It was truthfully getting old, and Meg never missed an opportunity to let Crowley know that she thought so. Even his bristled reactions to her flippant treatment of his physical and psychological tortures eventually failed to give her any real amusement.

Perhaps against her better judgment, she was really starting to wish that they would try something new on her, something they would never expect.

If she was doing her math right, a few months had gone by on earth when that day finally came.

She didn’t what she was expecting that day when the cell door opened. But her clothes were soaked with blood by now and were starting to get a little crusty, so she was too distracted to look at the source of the noise.

“Meg.”

Just the way that voice said her name made her look up, and her carefully-crafted mask cracked. “Castiel.”

The angel took slow, deliberate steps toward her. He’d ditched the mental patient scrubs for his old suit and tie, though his hair was still as messy and his eyes were as bright. Brighter than normal, almost, though maybe that was just because of how dark everything around her was. She practically had to adjust her vision just to see him properly.

Before it could look like she’d gotten too mushy, though, she let out a chuckle. “Took you long enough to get here.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He was just as taciturn as she remembered he’d been when he was sane. Had his noodle righted itself, then? As he moved closer, she forgot to ask him. “I don’t have much time.”

“Yeah, ‘cause Crowley will ice your ass.” She shook her head. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” He was so close now that she could feel his breath on her lips, and she let her eyes shut to breathe it in. There was something off about his scent, though. His cleanliness was gone, replaced with something smokier.

It hit her just what was going on, and her eyes flew open just in time to see Castiel’s eyes turn black.

The realization that the punch in her sternum that she felt was actually a knife driving home right to her heart occurred to her just a moment later.

Her vision blurred, growing dark around the edges. What did he do to this knife, and why did she feel like she was going to pass out? She had to fight this off, whatever it was. She had to…had to…

When she came to, the demon who had made himself look like her angel was gone. The knife was still buried in her torso, sticking out like some cheesy prop in a horror movie. Every time she shifted, a little more blood leaked out around it, and her shackled hands and dampened powers couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“You’re such an idiot, Meg,” she whispered. “Such a stupid, sentimental idiot.”

Acknowledging that didn’t make her feel any better. But at least next time, she would be prepared. This was the realm of abandoned hopes, after all. What would have made her so special as to have her deepest-seated hopes fulfilled?

For a little while, Crowley and his stooges didn’t pull that particular trick again. They used brute force, they used Yellow Eyes and Tom, but the Castiel illusion they seemed to be saving for whenever they thought they could use it to make her break down or let herself be vulnerable again. She proved them wrong in each instance, of course, and soon enough this became just as rote as the rest of the so-called torment, too.

Eventually, she developed a mantra for herself, just to have some kind of goal. _I gotta get out of here. I gotta get out of here. I gotta get out of here. I gotta get out of here. I gotta get out of here and kick the real Castiel’s ass for taking so fucking long to bust me out…_

Huh. The _real_ Castiel. Now, there was a thought.

But would it work? Or would it all be for naught?

“Can’t hurt to try,” she muttered. Then she cleared her throat, lowered her head, and began.

“Uh…hey, Castiel. It’s me. Meg. Obviously. I haven’t done this in a really long time. Well, not really long. Not for us. Not sure if you remember that. But…this is the best way to get a message out there. I don’t know if you can even hear demons, but if you can hear me, I need your help. I’m trapped, and Crowley’s got me. He’s been torturing me for…it sorta feels like decades, but I guess it’s been a few months now. So if you could just do me a solid and maybe get me out, that’d be swell.”

She waited a few minutes. There was no response.

Sighing, she lowered her head and waited for the next round of torture to come.


	11. Chapter 10: Throw Out The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel takes flight through Purgatory, missing Meg and feeling a pull on his heart he doesn’t know how to explain.

Once the portal out of Purgatory closed and Dean, along with the vampire Benny’s soul, made it safely through, Castiel ran.

He wouldn’t expect his friend to ever understand why he needed to stay or the deep responsibility he felt for just about everything that had gone wrong in the last year or so. His own ego and desire to do the right thing his own way had gotten the better of him and made him destroy almost everything he cared about. Now that getting blasted into Purgatory seemed to have cleared his mind of his previous insanity—a state that he was now fully aware of and increasingly perplexed by—he was very conscious of all the things he had done wrong. He needed to pay for them, to serve penance. If Heaven wouldn’t be able to punish him, then he would just have to punish himself.

In any case, if he returned to Heaven now after all he had done, he wasn’t sure if he would allow himself to survive the venture.

Fleeing from and occasionally fighting Leviathan kept his mind preoccupied at the very least, and whenever he was wounded nothing hurt more than the knowledge that he deserved it, so anything any creature managed to do to him he could handle.

Something felt like it was missing, though, and he chalked it up to the lack of companionship that Dean and even Benny had provided. He didn’t want to think about it being anything else, for that would be a doorway to worry that he couldn’t afford to open right now. As much as he hated himself right now, he also knew that he couldn’t very well fulfill his self-inflicted punishment if he were dead. That was the only thing that kept him running instead of just lying down and letting the Leviathan kill him the way they very well could have.

Still, there were days that a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like his own made him wonder if it was all worth it. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if he just died? It wasn’t as though there was anyone out there who even needed him anymore anyway, and even if they did he would just be a disappointment.

A much smaller voice that still tended to pipe up from time to time had other ideas. Maybe there _was_ someone out there who wouldn’t think he was a letdown. Someone who might stick by him even when he didn’t deserve it.

The first being who popped into his head that fit that description was Meg. She had cared for him in the hospital and remained by his side even when he was useless to her. She only ever left him so that she could protect herself.

He wondered where she was now. Would Purgatory be easier to bear if he had her around?

Would he have even earned the pleasure of any company at all, let alone hers?

He shouldn’t have missed her as much as he did now, and he knew it. He didn’t have psychosis as an excuse anymore. But the fact was that he did miss her deeply, as one might perhaps miss a vital organ.

One night (though, what did “night” really even mean in Purgatory when everything was so dark?), as he was hunkered down in a dank cave where no other creatures had ever set foot, he thought he saw a flicker of something out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, there was nothing there. No monsters had found him, nor had he accidentally intruded on anything else.

But then he heard a voice, and he began to question whether he had overcome his insanity after all.

_“Uh…hey, Castiel,”_ the smoky, dulcet tones said, and he found himself looking around to find the source. There was nothing around, no shifters that could mimic voices or strange holes in the cave that could produce this illusion of sound. _“It’s me. Meg. Obviously.”_

There was that fleeting thing in his periphery again, only this time when he turned to look, he saw _her._ Her hands were suspended with chains, her shirt was torn, and her clothes and skin were stained red with blood. Her own? His heart rate picked up in anxiety at the thought.

_“I haven’t done this in a really long time,”_ she continued, and there was a bitter, hard expression on her face. _“Well, not really long. Not for us. Not sure if you remember that. But…this is the best way to get a message out there. I don’t know if you can even hear demons, but if you can hear me, I need your help. I’m trapped, and Crowley’s got me. He’s been torturing me for…it sorta feels like decades, but I guess it’s been a few months now.”_

Months. That was how long he’d been in Purgatory, too.

_“So if you could just do me a solid and maybe get me out, that’d be swell.”_

He watched as the image of her flickered again. He wished he could reach out to her, grab her hand and let her comfort him the way that she used to. Maybe he could even do the same for her. Just as he worked up the nerve to act on that impulse, she sighed, lowered her head, and disappeared.

“Meg,” he whispered.

What just happened? Was that even real? If it was, what did it mean? Had she somehow been able to reach him here with a prayer? Once, what felt like an eternity ago, she had prayed to him while they were both on earth. But all he had gotten then was the whisper of her voice and nothing more. In fact, he had never actually seen the form of any being when they were praying to him. So just what was going on here? More importantly, if Crowley had her, where was he keeping her? How could Castiel get to her? He had tried to get himself out of Purgatory before he had grown resigned to what he deserved, and while he could teleport, it was only very short distances since his powers seemed to have been severely dampened.

Then, of course, there was the other option. What if it wasn’t real and his solitude was causing his mind to play tricks on him? What if he hadn’t quite overcome his psychosis after all? What if a manifestation of what he wanted to happen was all she was? The more he thought about that possibility, the more likely it seemed. After all, why would Meg ask _him_ for help? The last time they saw each other he had been completely useless. It didn’t make sense for her to call on him. It had to be just some kind of a mirage. It _had_ to be.

Despite all that, he desperately wanted to see her again in any capacity. He just hoped that the next time he hallucinated, she wouldn’t be hurt. Even he knew that he was being cruel to himself to envision her that way. It was as if he subconsciously _wanted_ to think that he had failed her in every manner possible.

But what if that was just the truth? What if he really had failed her?

The next time he saw her was a few days later during a really inconvenient time, as he stalked the trees, trying to get a pair of Leviathan off his trail.

_“Cas…”_ And there she was once more, right in his line of sight. Much of the blood he had seen on her before was gone, but now a bruise was blooming purple across the left side of her face. Something roiled in his gut at that, and he couldn’t be certain just why. _“Me again. Don’t know if you heard me the last time, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to try and talk to you again. Or maybe it could. Can’t be sure anymore.”_

“No,” he said, a little too loudly. “No, it can’t hurt. It _shouldn’t_ hurt.”

She was going on as if she didn’t hear him, though, which he had to admit was a little odd for a trick of the mind. _“…it’s getting rougher around here. Crowley’s gotten creative. Started actually overseeing my correction in person. Or at least, that’s what he says I’m in for, but we both know that he’s just having fun until I break and swear loyalty to him or whatever. Honestly, the guy should really know by now that this is_ not _how you make friends. Hell, even I know that.”_

Her odd sense of humor made him crack a smile for the first time since he got here, and he was so distracted that he almost missed the shift in the air that signaled for him that it was time to run.

When he stopped again, she was still there.

_“I’m not saying I miss you or anything. Not that at all. But I do kinda wish you could haul ass over here and make with the smiting, you know?”_

“I wish I could, too,” he muttered. “And I do miss you.”

_“Shit.”_ She looked up, her good eye wide. _“Someone’s coming. Gotta go.”_

With that, she disappeared with the same shimmer that had marked her appearance.

He saw her sporadically after that, and whether it was an illusion or not he had to admit that it did make him feel a little less alone. Of course, he never failed to chastise himself for that bit of selfishness. Sure, her image provided good company, but every time he saw her she was hurt in a different way. It didn’t make much sense to him, but he could only assume that his brain couldn’t keep up with details when he was distracted running from and fighting off monsters. It was distressing either way. Each time he hoped that the next time his imagination produced her she would be free and unharmed, and each time he was sorely disappointed.

A few weeks after the more lengthy hallucination, Castiel was huddled in a ditch. He’d been in more dignified positions before, but right now his scent was concealed from both an angry pack of vampires who thought him an enabler of Benny’s betrayal, as well as Leviathan. The latter were always his primary concern, but he also didn’t exactly want to fight off an entire horde of vampires either.

_“Castiel…”_ Meg’s voice was a hoarse whisper, and Castiel turned his head to see her. She was still suspended by her wrists, and her face and hair were bloodied, her eyes squeezed shut to keep the fluid out of them. A deep ache went straight through his chest. _“…it’s been a little while. Sorry about that. Starting to think Crowley’s catching on to these little chats. One-sided chats, anyway. What do you even call that?”_

She coughed, and blood dripped onto the ground.

_“I’d say he’ll kill me any day, but then he’d be giving up. And if there’s one thing I can say about this fucker, it’s that he’s…persistent.”_ Her eyes finally opened then, and past the brown depths he could see her real face. Something about it seemed profoundly sad to him. Why? _“At this point I’ve kinda stopped hoping you’ll come for me. Clearly something I’m doing isn’t working. Either you’re not hearing me, or…”_

She cut herself off with another cough, but when she resumed, she didn’t name the alternative. It didn’t matter. He knew what it was anyway, and if he weren’t a little more focused on hiding today, he would have protested.

_“Look. Just wanted to let you know that I totally get it. You’ve got shit going on, probably, or you’re just getting shit. And I’m…not on the radar. It’s whatever. But you know what? I’ll see you when I see you, and then I’ll tear you a new one.”_ She smiled wryly. _“I’m a girl of my word, Clarence. So you’ll see just what I mean.”_ Then she looked up, just over his shoulder, and heaved a sigh. _“He’s coming back again. This is Meg, signing off.”_

Her eyes closed once again, and Castiel’s gut twisted as she faded from view, but her smile was burned into his memory.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” he said, and he didn’t realize his volume until there was a crack in the brush just beyond. The scent reached him before another sound could, and he froze.

Vampires _and_ Leviathan, stalking him together. There was a saying that he had heard that could describe the situation, beginning with “the enemy of my enemy…”

He had to get out of here. But with his powers being so weak, there was no way but to run. What were his chances of making it out of this alive?

Meg’s words echoed in his head, and he steeled himself. He _had_ to make it out of this alive, if only so that he could find out whether the real Meg would scold him the way he believed. He needed to see her again, no matter what her circumstances were. And maybe, just maybe, he could begin to redeem himself to the world, too.

That last option was far less likely to truly occur, but who was he if he didn’t try?

Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and then launched out of the ditch, rolling over his shoulders and taking off at a sprint the second his feet were on level ground. Snarls sounded around him far too close for his liking, but he kept going, dodging trees and rocks and leaping across the creeks that interrupted his path. At last, he spotted a clearing up ahead. From there he could veer in another direction and lose the monsters that were on his tail. Just a few more feet…

Something hard caught his ankle and dragged him down to the forest floor, and he let out a groan as mud splashed up and caked his shoulders. What was that, a root?

The growling and snapping and gnashing of huge teeth kept him from investigating that line of thought further. He managed to turn around where he landed to see how close his pursuers were, and it was then that he realized how fruitless fleeing had been in the first place.

Vampires and Leviathan surrounded him in equal measure, filling the trees and blocking any possible path of escape.

_This is how I die,_ he thought. _I’m sorry, Meg._

He braced himself for the impact of teeth.

Before they could so much as budge any further, a great blast of energy knocked them all away. He blinked at the sight, astonished. That hadn’t come from him. So where…?

No sooner had he looked up than a warm, white light engulfed him. It almost felt like Heaven. Heaviness settled in his head, and soon enough he fell into darkness.

When he came to, the bleak atmosphere of Purgatory was nowhere to be found. Instead, green trees and blue skies greeted him, as did a rushing noise a few yards away. Traffic.

He was back on earth.

A strange blend of relief and melancholy struck him, but he shook it off long enough to stand and get his bearings. Where was he? From the feel of the earth beneath his feet and the honestly beautiful magnetic fields he could now sense all around, he was somewhere in Illinois. It was a start.

As he walked down the road, curious to see its destination, a black car passed him. The familiar look of it gave him an idea.

What if he went to find the Winchesters? Surely Dean had found Sam by now, and they were back to their previous dynamic. Whatever was going on—whatever had brought him back—they could help him. And he could, in turn, help them and perhaps start to fix the many messes he had made in the process. And maybe…just maybe…they knew where Meg was now. If they didn’t, they could help him find her. Couldn’t they?

Trudging on down the road, he let the thought of redeeming himself to his friends and his caretaker guide him to his unknown destination.


	12. Chapter 11: Dust to Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg and Castiel finally meet again and have a heart-to-heart, leading Meg to an epiphany.

“Is there any booze in this dump?”

Meg had meant the question as mostly rhetorical, and anyway was determined to find said booze all on her own. After everything she had been through in the past year, she could really use a drink and some time alone—really alone. Not because Crowley said so, but because she was free.

_Free._ She’d nearly forgotten what that could really mean. It wasn’t just a word, it was a feeling. It was like she could jump off the nearest building and instead of crumpling on the ground, she would fly away and never return. And nobody, not even Crowley, would be able to stop her.

Maybe she’d reverse this bleach blonde dye job while she was at it, too.

“Meg.”

Damn.

She heaved a sigh and turned on the stairs she had been hobbling up to see that Castiel had followed her. _Really_ followed her. Too-close-for-comfort followed her.

“What do you want, Cas?”

He didn’t answer her right away, and even if she didn’t know him as well as she did, she would call him out on being uncertain. “I thought I might accompany you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

This time he didn’t answer her at all. He just gestured to the stairs they still had to climb. For her part, she stared at him, scrutinizing his face, part of her hoping that if she looked hard enough she could will him to say something, to give her some sort of explanation for the way he was hovering around her. But her hopes didn’t work, and so she begrudgingly began to make her way up the stairs once more, all too keenly aware of the angel who was at her heels.

Wasn’t this kind of what she had wanted months and months ago? For him to show up and deliver her from the depths of perdition? Looking back on it, the fantasy she’d had was stupid and juvenile and entirely too sentimental for a member of her species, and she wasn’t even entirely sure where it had all come from. It wasn’t like she ended up needing him to survive, and in any case he had been a little late to the party.

So why did the very knowledge that he was looking at her with such concern make her stomach flutter like there were little insects in there desperate to get out?

Alcohol would settle her nerves, she knew, and that meant she had to find something in these cabinets soon. Whoever had lived here before (she assumed it had to be that Ann Morton lady’s husband) had left in a hurry. Whether that was because being here reminded him too much of his late, darling wife, or just because deep down he knew the atrocities a demon had committed while riding around in her skin, Meg wished she could determine. But at the end it didn’t matter because he had left a full bottle of whisky, and it was with a good amount of glee that she hugged it close to her chest and had every intention of finishing it off in one go.

She didn’t even notice the blood and pus she had gotten on the cabinet, but apparently Castiel did, for he reached out and gently grabbed her wrist the second she stood, carefully inspecting it. She scoffed and tried to be annoyed, but she couldn’t deny to herself that the intensity of his gaze gave her a bit of a tingle.

Damn. Would she always be so weak for him?

“What?” she demanded, trying to sound a little tougher than she felt.

“Your wrists,” he said quietly, and it was then that his eyes flicked up to meet hers. She couldn’t have fled at that moment even if she tried. Even if she wanted to. “I can’t heal them without hurting you, but let me clean them and dress them. It’s the least I can do after…”

“After what?” she asked. “After you totally ignored my calls?” She was trying to be a little funny, but the pain she saw in his gaze made her realize that she missed her mark.

“I am sorry about that,” he replied after a second of silence. “I didn’t mean to…when you prayed, I was in Purgatory and I thought…well, I thought I was just seeing things and hearing things. Because I missed you. I didn’t realize it was all real until we found you today.”

The naked vulnerability of the words nearly knocked the wind out of her, but she recovered quickly. “I see. And after?”

“I didn’t hear you.” And he’d always been a terrible liar, at least when it came to fibbing right to people’s faces, so she was certain he was telling the truth right now. “I felt a call, but it was so distant that I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I don’t know what was blocking you even after Crowley brought you here, but something was keeping me from getting a full signal. I did try to look for you anyway, but…” He held on to her a little tighter, but not so tight as to hurt. “I’m sorry about that, too. I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you.”

She should have chewed him out. She should have ripped him a new one, just like she had promised she would whenever he finally found her. But for whatever reason, she wasn’t even a little angry with him. Inside she just felt softer and warmer, and rather than words of frustration all she said was, “It’s okay. You made it up to me today, didn’t you?”

Then he smiled softly, shyly, and it hit her just like the ton of bricks that old adage talked about.

She hadn’t felt like this since she became a demon, and for all she knew it had been foreign to her in her human life as well. This wasn’t familial affection or religious adoration. This wasn’t even some passing fancy of lust that she could fuck away.

She was in love.

Damn him.

“You should sit,” he said, dragging her out of her epiphany. “Come. Relax on the couch. I’ll get a bowl and bandages ready.”

“Yeah,” she said, and much to her surprise she sounded completely normal. “’Kay.” The second she turned around, she let her shoulders slump with the exhale of a breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding. She was able to ground herself a little when she reached the couch, though she suspected that could be partly attributed to the fact that her legs hadn’t quite worked right since she got topside. Whatever Crowley had done to those knives his lackeys used, the effect was lasting. Maybe he had enchanted the weapons. No matter what it was, the time for fixing it had in all likelihood already come and gone.

Castiel was quiet as he returned to her with a bowl, a washcloth, bandages, and medical scissors, all of which he set on a table before he pulled up a chair. Then, silently, he took her left hand in his and began to wash and dress the wound. It was taking a little longer than she would have thought it would, his every little scrub lingering, and Meg was almost more preoccupied with that by itself than she was with him. Just almost, though, as once again the way his eyes bored right past her skin to see her true self set her alight inside.

She lifted the whisky to her lips with her free hand and took a long drink.

Cas didn’t speak again until he was cleaning her other wrist, and when he did it was as though he had read her mind to see the exact question she had in there. “These wounds have festered,” he said.

Well, that would explain the pus. And the smell. Still, she shot him a grin, and it was just like they had never been separated. “You really do know how to make a girl’s nethers quiver, don’t ya?”

“I am aware of how to do that,” he responded with a cursory glance between her legs, and suddenly the clever rejoinder she’d already come up with was whisked from her head. “Although it doesn’t usually involve cleaning wounds.”

Just the casual way he said all that was so very Castiel, and it made that uncomfortable warm, fluttery feeling reawaken in Meg’s chest. And maybe that little loss of sense was what led her to ask her next question. “Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and she could accept that. It made her feel even warmer, but she could accept it. Whether he was going through the same thing was unimportant in the end, she supposed. It wasn’t going to stop this horrible, wonderful gooeyness that had overtaken her and, she realized, had been slowly overtaking her for years now all because of him. “And I still don’t know who Clarence is.”

Fondly—yes, fondly—she rolled her eyes and lifted the whisky to her lips again. “Would it kill you to watch a movie? Read a book?”

He shook his head. “A movie, no. But a book with the proper spells…yeah, it could theoretically kill me.”

She did still find his literal-mindedness a little irritating, but a brief flash of _something_ across his face let her know that he was attempting humor. Two could play at that. “You know, you’re much cuter when you’re shutting up.”

At once he fell completely still and looked up at her with those big, blue puppy dog eyes of his. She couldn’t keep an amused smile off her face.

Ugh, she was in so much trouble.

Ignoring that sense of impending disaster, she milked the quiet a little bit longer before she figured she might as well prompt him to speak again. She really did like hearing him talk. And in any case, she had a number of inquiries for him, and she wanted to get them out before she started thinking too much about their source. “So, which Cas are you now? Original make and model, or crazy town?”

He glanced off to one side, seeming to truly consider it. “I’m just me,” he said.

“So your noodle’s back in order?” she asked.

He nodded once, curtly. “My noodle remembers everything. I think it’s a pretty good noodle.”

Okay, he had opened himself right up for this. How was she supposed to be able to resist? “Really? You remember everything?”

A quirk of her brow was all it took for him to catch on. “If you’re referring to the pizza man…” He cast his eyes down to the floor. “…yes, I remember the pizza man.” His stare found hers again, and she could swear she saw the hint of a smile on his face. “And it’s a good memory.”

There was no hiding the full-blown grin that hijacked her expression.

Maybe she should just stop denying it. It might be a little easier. Though, what she wanted to know now that she knew that yes, he did recall everything, came from a place she knew well, and that place was selfishness. “What about that little wife you had? Daphne?”

“Daphne?” His eyes narrowed, then widened again. “Oh. Daphne. We, uh…well, we were never actually married, you see. That was a cover story she came up with so people wouldn’t ask too many questions. I think she was trying to protect me. I do remember her, though. She was kind.”

Now it was her turn to say, “Oh.” That made her feel much better and, yeah, a little smug too. Now—given he was into it—she could have him all to herself. She had a feeling that he wouldn’t have approved of her offing the hypotenuse.

_Don’t question it, Meg,_ she reminded herself. _Whatever you’re feeling is just that. Let it be, roll with the punches._

“Man, all that feels like a lifetime ago,” she said, and he nodded in agreement.

“Indeed.” He gave her yet another soft smile, and this time it looked like it was here to stay.

She smiled wryly herself as she took another swig of her alcohol, casually wiping her upper lip before she kept the conversation going with an idle sort of notion. “You ever miss the apocalypse?”

“No,” he answered. “Why would I miss the end of times?”

A shrug was her initial response to that, but she knew he would want a real explanation for bringing up the subject. “I miss the simplicity,” she said finally and honestly. There was no reason to lie, at least not around him. “I was bad, you were good. Life was easier. Now it’s all so messy.” And another swig, just for emphasis. “I’m kinda good, which sucks. And you’re kinda bad…which is actually all manner of hot,” she admitted.

His eyes shifted down from where they had been studying the ceiling back to her, and she saw a smirk on his mouth. That smug bastard. How was she supposed to resist a look like that?

“We survive this…” No going back now, and she wouldn’t even consider it anyway. This was more solid territory regardless. Something she knew. “I’m gonna order some pizza and we’re gonna move some furniture around. You understand?”

His trademark confused look was his first reaction, and it struck her just how adorable it was. The knowledge of that was both gross and sort of enjoyable. “No, I…”

She shot him another suggestive look and hoped that he would catch her drift.

If the dilation of his pupils was any indication, he most certainly did. “…wait. Actually, yes, I—”

“All right.” Dean’s voice was a booming interruption, Meg glared at him as he and Sam entered the room. It was like they knew she and Cas were having a moment and had used their super-irritating powers just to spoil it. But Dean acted like he didn’t even notice. “Let’s roll, campers.”

He strolled out the door. Sam followed close behind, but not before giving her and Cas a knowing glance. At least he had some semblance of self-awareness.

Once the brothers were gone, Meg looked back to Castiel only to find that he was still staring at her with that same borderline lustful gleam in his eyes. It was pretty attractive, if she had to say so. Hell, she’d say so even if she didn’t have to. What she didn’t get was what he found so blatantly fascinating.

“What?”

Without a word, he reached for her hand and held it gently in his again. She could feel the heat of his light and the sting of his grace just under his skin, and how she’d so missed that. But his captivating gaze caught her attention, and she found herself waiting in an electrically charged silence.

“I wanted to say yes.” His thumb rubbed across her knuckles and gave her a chill. “I understand. And I’m…I’m looking forward to that.”

She didn’t know what floored her more: That affirmation or the gentle brush of his lips against her hand that followed. Maybe both rendered her equally astonished. Who was to say?

All she really knew in that moment was that she was completely and utterly doomed.

“It’s a date, then, Clarence,” she purred, leaning forward inch by inch until she could his warmth radiated right through the air and into her skin. But rather than give him what he might have obviously expected (though oh, how she wanted to), she just pushed herself off the couch, swiped the washcloth so she could wipe the rest of the blood off her face, and waited for him to join her. “Now come on. Let’s go play capture the tablet.”

This time, as he trailed after her, she allowed some self-satisfaction. She had a seraph wrapped around her little finger. And maybe, though she wouldn’t dare to even begin to hope so, that meant she wouldn’t be quite so all alone anymore.

There was no way this could end well.


	13. Chapter 12: Poison & Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel faces his own feelings for Meg, and he makes a decision on just what to do about them.

The sun was setting over the horizon and a chill permeating the air when Castiel left the Morton home with Meg and the Winchesters. And while he was still on edge, he allowed a little bit of hope to settle in his chest, too. The task ahead of them would be difficult and dangerous, but now he had something to look forward to. And it was all because of Meg.

So much had happened to him over the last few years because of Meg, now that Castiel gave it some thought. He had gone from being self-righteous to…now he didn’t even know what. But he was a different angel from who he had been before he knew her. He remembered years ago being terrified at the very idea of a tryst with anyone, and now he had plans for one with a demon.

It was wrong on many levels. He knew that much. But so far, no one had appeared to stop him, and he doubted that they would. Given the relationship he’d had with Meg in the past, why would anyone become savvy to the connection now? And what would they dare to do about it?

More importantly, what was he willing to do to protect her?

Those notions swirling around in his head kept him occupied as they walked out to the Impala where Sam and Dean were waiting, as did Meg’s unsteady gait. It worried him. He’d never known a demon to have trouble walking after they’d had time to heal from whatever physical trial they had undertaken. So what was wrong with her?

He caught up to her quickly, wanting to be beside her just in case something happened. However, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for long. “What’s wrong, Meg? I noticed your balance has been off since we found you.”

She shoved her hands into her back pockets and shrugged. “Hell if I know. Just haven’t felt right since I got topside. Downstairs Crowley used these different knives. They looked pretty normal, but they were spelled. I could feel it.” She glanced up at him, and he saw something in her real eyes that he once believed he never would: Weariness.

“Meg…” He reached for her hand and stopped walking, and so she did, too, swaying where she stood. “You don’t have to do this. I shouldn’t have asked you anyway. But if you would prefer, we can put you up somewhere to heal and go to the crypt ourselves.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? You want me to just sit around like some good little house frau while you boys go have all the fun? No, thanks. Besides, I wanna help.”

Why did she have to be so maddeningly, wonderfully stubborn? “Meg…”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m coming with, and that’s final. I’m tired of seeing Crowley get his way all the time. It’s my turn to dick him over and see his face when he realizes he’s been had. That understood?”

With a beleaguered sigh, he began walking with her once again. “Yes.”

Deep down, though, he’d never wanted to be with anyone the way he wanted to be with her right now, and he probably never would again.

When they reached the car, one look from Dean was enough to let Castiel know that it would be for the best if they didn’t talk too much while en route to the crypt.

After a few minutes as they drove in silence, Sam turned around from the passenger seat to look at Meg. “You sure we’re headed in the right direction? Like…do you feel anything?”

“Mmhmm.” Even Castiel could tell from her tone that she had no intention to elaborate on that. “We’re getting warmer.”

A burst of affection struck him, but he didn’t realize until after he’d already done it that he had grabbed her hand again. She didn’t pull away, either, and just let him hold onto her. There were no words for the gratefulness he felt at that simple gesture, nor could he think of any way to explain the reason why his heart began suddenly pounding in his chest. It couldn’t be sheer nervousness about the task they were about to attempt, for he had never had that sort of reaction before. It could only be the fact that he was no longer crazy and she was no longer his nurse, but still she was letting him hold her hand and even squeezing his fingers of her own volition. Maybe the reason his pulse was racing so had to do with what it all meant.

But what _did_ it mean?

Apparently he wasn’t the only one to notice his irregular heart rate, either, for Meg leaned in close and whispered so low that only they could hear, “You doing okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said a little too quickly. “I was just thinking.”

“What about?”

He looked down and saw that her other hand was now tracing the patterns of his veins. “This, I suppose,” he mused. “What it all means. If it means anything. It _does_ mean something, right? It has to.”

That fondness she’d shown on her face before in the house returned, and he found himself thinking just how beautiful she was. The body she wore was nice, too, but her true form had a light inside that grew brighter each time he saw her. He could remember telling her as much when they were in the hospital. She’d told him she didn’t like his poetry, but he hadn’t just been waxing verses then. Each and every word had been sincere.

The sound of her voice reminded him of where he really was at the moment. “It can if you want it to.”

He blinked, but before he could really respond the car stopped outside an old, abandoned building. They must have reached their destination.

Now Dean turned around in the driver seat, clearing his throat. “Okay. Sam and I are gonna get out first and case the joint, see if there are any obvious ways in and out. You two wait here.” His eyes narrowed. “No funny business in my car.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean’s definition of “funny business” was, but Meg gave him a cocky salute. “Aye-aye, captain.”

As soon as both brothers were out of the car and the doors were shut, the little demon sidled over to Castiel, and in his eyes her every cell was alluring. It was enough to keep him from protesting or pointing out Dean’s rule against funny business in the car up until she was almost in his lap. “Uh…Dean said…”

“Dean said, schmean said,” was her flippant reply, and he couldn’t even try to keep the smile off his face. “We were having a nice talk. Now we don’t have to worry about the Grimm brothers out there overhearing. You know…if you catch my drift.”

“Not really.”

She sighed and let go of his hand only to rest hers on his cheek. The contact made him turn his face toward her, which seemed to be exactly what she wanted if the satisfied look on her face was any indication. She was so much easier for him to read now, despite the cryptic way she tended to speak. He knew her, perhaps even better than he knew himself. “Now are you picking up what I’m putting down?”

“I…I think so. Yes.” And he would be glad if he was right. It had been far too long since he had been close to her like this.

“Good.” She didn’t give him time to say anything else before she surged up and kissed him.

It wasn’t hard and biting like the last time, but still burned like a steady, glowing ember. He closed his eyes as he got lost in it, sweet like wine. He never thought he would get the chance to kiss her again. Now he thought he would never get enough of just this. She was intoxicating, addicting, and he pulled her even closer even though the confining environment of the car made most movement awkward at best and difficult at worst. He didn’t care. All that mattered in this moment was her, this irresistible, delectable, glorious poison by which he would happily meet his demise.

All too soon it was over, and when Castiel opened his eyes all he could do was stare at her. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, and it hit him again just how breathtaking she was.

He would kill for her. 

He would die for her.

He cared enough for the Winchesters to do the same, true. But Meg was the only one who made him feel quite so alive at the same time. What he felt at this moment was so close to reverence, and yet…

Was this that romantic love humans were always talking about?

What was he supposed to do about it?

Always one to take advantage of the way a situation turned, Meg planted another soft, lingering kiss at the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “Consider that a little teaser trailer.”

“All right.” He should say something else. Shouldn’t he? He should let her know what he just realized and get her thoughts on the matter, learn what her feelings were. She implied that all this meant something for her, too. Would she be receptive, then, to the idea of love? Or would she reject it on principle?

There was a rapping on the window on his side of the car, and he swiveled where he sat to see Dean standing there. He motioned for them both to get out, and so with a bit of resignation Castiel pulled away from Meg.

He could always tell her later, when they had ordered pizza and moved furniture around like she said they would. It might be better to do so then.

“Let’s do this thing,” he heard her mutter as she got out the other side of the car. Taking her cue, he got out as well and found Sam and Dean both waiting for them. Sam was getting cans of spray paint from the trunk, and Castiel wondered just how much he had seen. If he had witnessed anything, he was being very kind in not mentioning it.

Once they had all convened outside the car, Sam and Dean led them to take a look at just what they were dealing with. Meg caught on before they had a chance to begin explaining the situation in full, though.

“So, this is it,” she said. “Basement?”

Castiel found himself worrying a little bit about her again as she limped along at his side, even though he knew she wouldn’t want him to. He wouldn’t take the blame for it, though. He had just recognized his love for her. Was he supposed to ignore that now just because it might make her a little uncomfortable? He stewed over that while the others kept talking.

“All right,” said Dean. “Cas and I will head in and get our Indiana Jones on. Sam, you stay outside with Meg.”

He didn’t know what Indiana Jones referred to, but he did know that Dean’s plan worked right alongside his own. The angel tablet could be safely retrieved, and Meg would stay out of immediate danger.

Sam, on the other hand, didn’t seem to like it as much as Castiel did. “What?” he asked, sounding irritated.

“We got this,” Dean assured him.

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Sam demanded. “I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

Castiel frowned. He knew both brothers were suspicious of him, but he didn’t expect either of them to be so open about it. “He won’t be alone.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Sam said hurriedly. “Meg can hang here, watch our backs.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh, what? Now you trust Meg?”

Both Castiel and Meg bristled. “Hey,” the demon protested, “I got you this far.”

“Shut up,” Dean retorted at the same time Sam said, “Shut up, Meg. Dean—”

“Sam,” Dean interrupted. “I saw your bloody rag in the trash can, okay?”

Castiel glanced down at Meg. Judging by the hard line her lips had formed, she was clearly getting impatient with the boys’ bickering, and he found that impatience rather endearing.

Sam, on the other hand, was clearly flustered. “That wasn’t—”

Dean cut him off again. “Stop. Just stop. Sam, we don’t know what’s in there, okay? And you almost let a demon get the best of you back there.”

“I’m fine,” Sam insisted. The lie practically stunk in the air.

“No, you’re not fine,” Dean countered. “You haven’t been fine since the first trial. That’s why I called Cas.”

“Trial?” Meg prompted, and Castiel made a mental note to fill her in a little more clearly after all this was over.

Sam and Dean both turned to her. “Shut up, Meg.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at both of them. Was it really necessary for them to be so rude to her? Surely they were aware that he at least liked her, and this was not a good way to treat a longtime ally in any case.

They didn’t notice the offense he took, though. “Dean,” Sam said, pleading. “I’m telling you—I’m okay.”

If there was one way to stop the fighting and get them to focus on the task at hand, it was to settle this matter himself. “No, you’re not,” Castiel said quietly. “Sam…you’re damaged in ways even I can’t heal. Dean’s right. You should stay here and protect Meg.”

Now it was Meg’s turn to object. “Since when do I need protecting?”

“Since you were held captive and tortured for over a year,” he all but snapped.

For her part, she seemed impressed rather than put out. “Touché.” Her voice was but a purr, and the way she looked him up and down sent a shiver along the length of his spine. It was a reminder of what was to come. He knew that.

“All right, we’ll be back,” he heard Dean say. But Castiel was preoccupied again, giving Meg a softer look that said he was glad she would be safe before heading for the entrance of the building. He would see her when this task was completed.

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur. Naomi’s control—for he now was conscious of Naomi’s control—was so total that the events didn’t seem to fully register. He knew he was fighting Dean, and he knew that the angel tablet was found, but it wasn’t until it was freed from its casing that he returned to himself again. And he fled just as quickly, making sure the tablet would be protected from angel and human alike.

Something was wrong, though. Once he landed miles away from the site of the crypt, he felt a pang in his chest, near his heart. It was as if someone had stabbed him. But when he checked, there was nothing. No wound, no blood. The hurt didn’t stop despite all that.

More than that, it was suddenly as if something was missing. That feeling brought with it a rush of fear. What had he forgotten?

“Meg.” He looked around, at the rolling hills that surrounded him, but he didn’t sense her. What happened to her? Did Sam protect her, like he had requested? Was she safe? Maybe he should go back for her. Maybe…

That ache in his chest pulsed again and brought him to his knees. Did that mean…? No. It couldn’t be. She had promised, and she didn’t break her promises. Not the ones she made to him. They would see each other again. For now, she would want him to run, to get the angel tablet to safety so that Crowley wouldn’t get his hands on it. That was the best way he could please her at this very moment. So he pushed himself to his feet, tucked the tablet into his coat, and started walking.

He would get something to carry it until he had a better way to hide it. Then he would find some transportation. Teleporting was too dangerous until he had a travel strategy, as the change in energy would alert Heaven to his whereabouts, so he would have to take a bus. That was all right. He had done that much before.

Once the tablet was secure and while the world calmed down, he would wait for her. And someday she would find him the way she had for years and act on those plans they had made. And they would be together, and he would tell her how he loved her and that he would never part from her or let her be hurt again, and all would be well.

Someday.


	14. Epilogue: Monster Lead Me Home

Ripples.

That was the best word Meg could think of to describe the feeling that woke her up. It was like the ripples on a pond, slowly making their way to her and through her and rousing her from the deep sleep into which she hadn’t even been aware she had fallen.

_How long was I out?_ she wondered as she pushed herself into what must have been a sitting position. Then she opened her eyes and realized that was far from her most pressing question. Blackness surrounded her on all sides, and all through the dark she could see no one and nothing else. All there seemed to be was this endless abyss.

Where the hell was she?

An ache throbbed through her chest, and suddenly she remembered. A dark, foggy night. Wet pavement. An old warehouse. Blood streaming down her face while Crowley stood over her. Then a long, triangular dagger piercing her skin and sparks flying in her vision before everything was engulfed in shadows. And before all that, there were words. Were they hers? 

_“Go. Save your brother…and my unicorn.”_

Unicorn…Castiel.

What happened after that angel blade ran her through? Was she dead now? If she was, she would be surprised. She’d always thought that demons didn’t get a hereafter, though this was a pretty shoddy excuse for a hereafter. More importantly, what had happened to Cas? Was he out there somewhere? Was he safe? Did Sam do what she asked him to do?

Her internal questions were interrupted by a frustrated groan. She swiveled where she sat, scanning the immediate area for the source of the noise, but she still didn’t see anything. That sound was followed by a voice, genderless but booming.

“NOT AGAIN!”

All at once, a great force threw Meg across the blackness, and she fell unconscious once again.

The next time she woke up, it was because bright light was shining through her eyelids. And there was a smell that reached her nose, too. What was that, wildflowers? There hadn’t been any light in that other place, or any smells, for that matter. What the fuck was going on?

With a little effort and determination, Meg opened her eyes and sat up. She was in a field. Sunlight streamed down in beams between the clouds in the sky above, and all around her tall grass grew in tufts. There were also lilacs growing in this clearing; that must have been the source of the fragrance. Looking down at herself, she was surprised to find that she was in the same meatsuit she was wearing when she died. Same clothes, too. So what was this? Some kind of dream?

Her legs, she noticed now, were strangely numb. Curious to see what might happen, she pushed herself to her feet. After a few seconds she promptly fell flat on her ass. So, this definitely wasn’t a dream. If she were dreaming, she’d be able to walk without trouble. But it seemed that the damage Crowley had done to her true form remained. Combined with everything else, this could only mean one thing.

Somehow, she was alive.

She could go and find Castiel.

The sounds of cars rushing by caught her attention. She was near a highway.

Smirking to herself, she disappeared in a puff of smoke and let the road lead her home.


End file.
